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[sweetsalome]

Life is busy and full, there is always something to do, some place to go.

School, home, practice, homework, some lesson, some other extra circular activity on the day planner.  It has been like this ever since she could remember.  There isn't ever a whole lot of down time.  At some point she decided that she was a shark, any stopping would mean she would completely die.

Or something equally dramatic.

Shutting the front door with her hip, she drops her back pack near the front door and continues further into the house, tossing her gym bag into the laundry room without much of a thought before stepping into the kitchen to find food.  Yes, food, there must be something because she is starving.

Headphones in, ipod on, inner debating warring on if she should even bother starting her homework now or waiting for study hall.

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[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She has no idea what she was expecting his reaction to be. She knows what she was hoping his reaction would be, and for a split second she had that. His mouth against hers, pressing back, kissing back and it thrilled her. A thrill that started from the top of her head and traveled straight down the line of her back in an arc of electricity down between her legs. So wrong, so very, very wrong. She shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have made that move on him because it's just not right.

But to her it feels so very, very, right.

There are worse things in the world and this, this isn't even very bad. A few kisses and - well - what then. A show of what he has, that he doesn't need anything more, that she loves him. That she really loves him and what a better way to express that to him then in this way? He understands physical. He gives her little gifts all the time to show how much he cares for her and now, in this moment, a gift, from her to him, something reserved special for him.

And now this, this parental advisory warning. But he wants it. How could he not? That look in his eyes, the few seconds that he actually responded to her. Maybe it was her kiss that was off, she can certainly get better, learning from him she most certainly would.

"I want you," she breathes out those words and blushes so, so hotly, like her skin is on fire. Her hand on his jaw, she leans in to kiss him once again, firmer, more knowledgeable.

So, so very wrong, but she is so very desperate for him.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Fuck. Fuckfuck. Shit.

He's tried. He really has. For sixteen years--or ten, at least, after he got past the first six years of horror at the idea of being a young twenty-something with a child--he's really made an effort to be a good father. After all, he never had one, not a real one; so being a good father to his precious little girl felt like a 'fuck you' to his own. It hasn't been always easy. As darling as she's always been, and as much as she's always managed to stir something protective in him, he's had muted thoughts--not to be cruel to her or anything, but maybe just to put a pillow over her face. Something easy, harmless, that would let him have freedom.

But he resisted, because as silly as it sounds, he enjoys being a father. And Salome, of course, is very dear to him, for many reasons. Maybe partly because she keeps him on his toes.

The idea of something like this happening has crossed his mind in the abstract, but he never considered what he would do. It was always just an absent 'what-if' floating past in the dead of night, like what if she ran off with a boyfriend or what if she gets hooked on crack. Nothing he actually expected. But now that it's here, he can't deny how much he wants it, from way down in the back of his gut to the nerves in his skin. His brain snaps into high-gear when it comes to rationalization.

She's young, so young, and beautiful, and his. When she tells him she wants him, the adrenaline shoots through him. Yeah, young, but sixteen's not so young, and there's no harm in it, and she's so sweet, so darling. Look at the way she blushes! It's the highest compliment possible. He'd be doing her a favor, educating her, maybe keeping her out of trouble at the hands of boys her age.

And, frankly, the whole idea is almost as thrilling as the idea of his own mother. Now this is a feeling he can understand.

Oh, God, he could gobble her up. Particularly when she kisses him again; this time, he leans into it, into her, one hand finding the nape of her neck. Everything in him gives in and he takes control, his kisses hungry and confident, his lips firm as they press against the ones that send little sparks through him. The whole thing feels unreal, and so magnificent; his breath slithers out to ghost against hers, and his tongue finds its way to tease against her lips.

Tilting his forehead against hers, Richard drills holes through her eyes with his gaze, his fingers stroking the soft skin down the nape of her neck. "You don't want me, Salome." His nose brushes over hers, the heat rushing beneath his skin unbearably. "Out of all the boys in the world, why your daddy? He's a bad man, you know. Bad, bad, you don't want to be with a bad man, baby. A bad man is tempted to encourage you in a situation like this." His lips graze hers. "I'm going to say it again: this is a bad idea, little girl."

But that doesn't mean he's about to say 'no', because all his favorite ideas are bad ones.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

His hand at the nape of her neck. When she is in trouble his hand usually goes there, nothing painful, but firm, keeping a grip on her, controlling her in a way that is impossible to escape from. She feels his hand on her and she gasps out into the kiss that they are sharing. The second kiss, the second kiss, better then the first, with more of his mouth, with him kissing back, truly kissing back. He tastes like how she expected him to taste, like cigarettes and the generic flavor of kiss when it's not tainted by food or by toothpaste.

And she just kisses, her hands on her knees, gripping the fabric of her skirt, too nervous, too uncertain to find a way to move her hands and her mouth all at the same time. There is a panic, a shock at this, kissing, she instigated it but when in the thick of things her whole body just seems to freeze and she is left perched on the edge of the bed, leaning into him and gasping when he finally breaks the kiss.

Why is he stopping? There should be no stopping.

He doesn't want to, she can tell, the way that he looks at her, the caress of his fingers. He is practically vibrating with it, or perhaps that's her. There is no higher thinking at this point, just want, and all the things he whispers and all the things she knows isn't going to stop her from moving toward him. Her fingers finally moving to his shirt as she slips from the bed and toward his lap.

"I love you," a kiss on his mouth once again. "Isn't this what people do when they love someone?" Her lips on his throat, her fingers pushing and grabbing to pull his shirt from the waistband of his pants.

"C'mon, bad man," against his throat, tongue tasting and teeth nipping at the skin there. "Encourage me in this situation."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Oh, God. Why did her mother name her Salome? This is all Susan's fault. Everything is Susan's fault. He's just a victim. How could he be anything but? After he's tried so hard to be good, all these years, and then like a cosmic joke all of that is wiped away because his daughter is untucking his shirt, and speaking and nipping against his throat enough to make him exhale.

One hand lowering, Richard squeezes her knee, and the other slides from the back of her neck and traces the line of her spine. It lingers at the hem of her shirt, creeping just barely beneath the fabric and against that flesh, Jesus that flesh, so soft and new.

"You don't love me like this," he says while his hand slides up her shirt to rest flat against the small of her back. The one at her knee lifts to catch her wrists, the toothy grin spreading across his face impossible for him to fight off. "How much have you fooled around with boyfriends? Have you even had sex, young lady." He arches a brow, his expression smarmy, humorously lecherous while his fingers curl against the flesh of her back. "You should be fooling around with stupid boys in movie theaters and I should be buying shotguns to hunt them down."

His skull buzzes with sensory overload that echoes itself in his fingertips. The powder-soft scent of her hair, the warmth of her flesh, the sound of her voice and her breath. His tongue darts out to wet his lips while he struggles to formulate words. "If we go on, if we play like this, you and I, we will be having a serious discussion later. Is that clear?"

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She can feel her cheeks grow impossibly hot at his questions. How much has she fooled around? Has she even had sex? Is that the prerequisite for sleeping with him? It's so hard to get her brain working to form words and sentences at this moment. All she feels is hot and wanting and all he keeps doing is talking. A breath in and she keeps her lips against his throat so she doesn't have to make eye contact. "I do love you like this, I've been waiting for you . . ." and her voice trails off and she finds everything else stuck in her throat that she needs to swallow around.

"I want you to be my first," which sounds so weird and quiet coming from her mouth. And she feels embarrassed as if she just confessed some horrible sin to him or let him see how dirty she actually is. It's not untrue, her fantasies have revolved around him for as long as she could remember, boys her age don't appeal much to her, they are fine for a few gropes and kisses in the back of a theater, for hand holding, but that's pretty much about it. Does he want her to go out to those people? Her brows come together for a moment and she pulls back from his throat so she can look up at him.

"Do you want me to go out and find a boy instead of you?" Because she probably could and she could probably just bring that boy home instead of doing it in a movie or in the back seat of some car. She is also not sure what kind of conversation they could have after this, unless it's the one where he tells her that he loves her and not that other woman, and now they can be together forever.

That's what happens when you have sex, right?

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Oh, sweet Jesus, she actually thinks she loves him. Her little heart is going to break. And her first time? Oh, God. He's fucked, so completely screwed, this isn't going to end well at all.

But son of a bitch, a little fact like that isn't about to stop him.

Besides, what a compliment. He grins, thumb stroking back and forth against the soft plane of her flesh. "No, baby, I don't want you to go out and find some little creep. I'm glad you came to me, instead. Daddy's going to take good care of you, and we can have a nice time, much nicer than you'd have with anybody your age." His lips brush across her lower lip while he kisses down her jaw, nuzzles up against the throat he's admired objectively as one would a piece of art but never thought of appreciating like this.

Tongue darting out to taste her, Richard exhales a sigh of appreciation against her flesh. "Nobody can ever know about this, princess. I know you know, but I have to say it." His hands rove over her stomach, over her skirt, teasing against the downy-soft skin of legs he draws up to coax across his lap. He lifts his head to kiss her mouth, tongue slithering out to probe experimentally into hers, Christ, this is his little girl, his flesh and blood, and it renders her consumingly attractive, sends a blaze up in his chest for her.

"Daddy gets rough sometimes." His hand strokes along the soft line of her thigh, never getting very far before it makes its way back to her knee. The other hand finds its way up her side, beneath her shirt, feeling with awe the smooth curve of her waist. "But he'll be careful. Wouldn't want to damage you, now would I." Grinning, Richard tilts his head to murmur into her ear. "Likewise, you can't be upset and feel badly later, all right? There's nothing wrong with you and I having a nice time together, and there's no reason to feel badly. You know I adore you." His lips brush the lobe of her ear and he kisses down her jaw, her throat, down toward the neckline of her top. "So just trust me, and just relax."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She is drawn in, like a moth to the flame. The heat of him, the strength and reassurance that he gives her, how gentle he is with his touches of her skin. His hands move all over her and all she can do is lean into it, skin tingling and craving the pass of his skin against hers. It makes her feel drunk, drowsy almost, like he has put her into a trance. His words are like smoke and she inhales and inhales enough to make her feel high and loose, outside of her head but still connected to the skin so that she can feel everything.

Nuzzles, light touches, kisses, her hands start working on his shirt, the buttons, the flecks of paint from his art. He wants her, he doesn't want her to be with anyone else and she sighs soft and long under her breath while her fingers finally start to peel the fabric of his shirt away. She straddles his lap, her mouth against his once again, mouth soft, open, oh so easy under the press of his tongue and the grip of his hands. "It will be our little secret, no one needs to know except us." Secrets, so very tempting, alluring, dangerous, forbidden, it makes her skin feel like there is electricity running through it, down her spine and into her stomach.

She isn't thinking about anything about later, about how she will feel, how she will react, all she is thinking about is now. How his lips feel, how the palm of her hand feels against the tight of the muscles on his back and slides. this is what consumes her thoughts and breath. "I trust you," and she does, completely and utterly, because why would she not? He is her father and he is supposed to take care of her and not lead her to harm or danger, he never would.

Another soft, long sigh, as her mouth searches for his once again.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

A violent shudder overcomes him, it's as if she's reached into his skull and stolen his brain. He feels stupid--is stupid for letting this happen--but he can't help it. She wakes him up, mind and body, his being only half-aware of the fact that she's unbuttoning his shirt. His shoulders roll back to help her get it off, and he tosses it into the middle of the floor before tugging her top up over her head. Richard leans back, eyes tracing over every inch of her form, from the swell of young breasts within her bra to the smooth plane of her taut stomach.

His mouth waters. God, this is the body he taught to walk and swim and play, the little girl he's adored, who weaseled her way into his heart when he wasn't paying attention, and she almost seems like something else, now--or, rather, still the same, but now he realizes there's been something else inside of her after all this time.

Arms locking around her back, Richard kisses down the line of her clavicle, fire-hot presses of his lips to her flesh that are practically bruising as they make their way down the curve of those breasts. One hand easily overcomes the clasp of the bra and he tugs it aside, his mouth barely pausing in its descent. The scent of her skin is overwhelming, familiar, and this is all hideous and wrong but that just makes this so much better, he wants to sink his teeth deep into her flesh, maybe if it happens again, if she wants to make it into a regular thing, he will, and oh, fuck, but what about Delilah, they're going to have to tiptoe around her, and Susan, shit, but it only adds to the furious thrill of the transgression so it doesn't even give him pause.

"You are so beautiful." He sighs heavily, his lips sweeping over her, tongue darting out to taste her. "Oh, God, Salome. How long have you wanted this?" The flat of his tongue brushes out against a nipple, a jolt of pleasure overcoming him while his lips curve around it to suckle for a few seconds. When he lifts his head, it's with that wolfish grin of his, perhaps more predatory than any smile he's ever cast upon his daughter before, and he lets his nose brush up against hers while he speaks in a hot murmur. "Do you ever think about daddy when you touch yourself? This must have been on your mind awhile. Oh, Salome."

Richard chuckles, taking her face in his hands to press a hard, devouring kiss to her mouth, hungry as it is riddled with deep, confused affection. "You shouldn't do this to me, wicked girl. You're too much."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

If this was anyone else she would have shied away by now, pushing at their hands, wiggling and fighting to cover herself up, but here, but now, there is no fight. There is only a need for more, a confusing and mixed up need for more and uncertainty. Uncertainty on how to get more or what she should do with herself. He knows what to do, of course he does. Her father always knows what to do, how to handle himself, how things work and what she should do. He knows everything, how to touch her, how to kiss her in the way that makes her head feel light. How to drive her crazy, how to make her painfully wet.

So of course he knows how to unhook a bra, and of course his lips seek her out so easily and with such skill - and she groans, her fingers tangling in his dark hair, back arching to give him more of what his mouth is currently feasting on. "Oh daddy . . ." her skin is on fire, her pink nipples hard as she sort of wiggles and pushes to feel more of his mouth because that feels fantastic, his mouth so soft and hot against her skin. Her hips press down against his, in that grind, skirt up around her thighs there is only so much fabric between the two of them and if she presses just right it feels so good and that makes her groan again. Grinding against her father in the middle of her bedroom floor like a bunch of teenagers.

"So long," she doesn't even fight the words they just sort of spill out of her when he asks. "I've wanted this for so long, and at night before I go to bed I - I think about you and how good you would feel. I have to get off, I have to - and I pretend that it's you and it feels so fucking good." At that time she could only imagine how good it would feel to have the real thing, to have his hands and his mouth, to have his cock inside of her. So far it is not disappointing.

Opening her eyes she smiles and looks between them, gripping the fabric of her skirt to see where they are currently pressed together. "I think you want this, daddy. Tell me that you want me. That you shouldn't because it's wrong, but you want nothing more then to fuck me. Say it."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Every word out of her mouth is another scream of desire in his head, in the marrow of his bones. The way she wiggles in his lap in reaction to his lips is irresistible, his trousers more uncomfortable by the second with her straddling him. She used to be so innocent, such a cheeky, sweet little girl, and he supposes she still is. Every now and again a thought surfaces as though to suggest that this is an awful idea, and every other neuron in his brain converges to destroy it before it can form.

While she speaks, his thumb strokes up and down the curve of her shoulder blade, over the back of her shoulder, down her ribs. How bizarre, how unreal, to see her like this now--and how beautiful. The libertine in him could sob for joy, particularly at her confession, so sweet and shy and perfectly pure in the desires it reveals. His hands rove up and down her waist, tightening when she grinds against the bulge in his pants. Shocks of pleasure shoot straight through him, good as shooting up, and he grins and nuzzles up against her mouth.

"Such language, little girl. Where did you get a mouth like that, hm?" Grinning wider, he flicks a glance down to the skirt she grips and he shudders, a groan falling from his lips. "Oh, Salome, Jesus, yes." He nips her lower lip and his hands slide down, past hers, his palms stroking up and down her thighs. The tips of his fingers brush experimentally over her panties, the contact enough to steal all the air from his lungs, this is disgusting and wrong and beautiful. He pushes her back, plucks her from his lap by the hips and lays her down upon the bed to slide her skirt from her legs. The trail of kisses starts at her ankle, then continues up her knee, her thigh, completely skips the portion of her that most wants his attention, and makes his way up until he's kissing that mouth.

What words he can manage come between his kisses, his hand reaching down between her thighs while his tongue probes against her lips and his voice pours out into her mouth. "Of course it's wrong. But that just makes me want to fuck you all the more." His fingers slide over the wet mess she's already making over her panties and it provokes a sharp moan from him, the pressure in his pants unbearable but permissible for now. "Daddy wants to fuck you so bad it's driving him crazy, but it's important that we take our time."

His hand slides into her panties, now; slow, gentle, affectionate, while it makes its way down toward the pair of lips that's far damper than the ones he speaks against. "Because I want you to have a nice, nice time, Salome." His fingers slide down into that valley, not daring to push inside her, but acquainting themselves with her soaked terrain, and his eyes fall closed in absolute awe for what he feels. Every sudden jolt of reality hops its rails and turns to instant pleasure. "We've got all evening, and I don't want to hurt you right now, so we'll go nice and patient and slow."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

The bed is cool against her back, the sheets, the blankets all push against her and feel soft and soothing against her skin, like cool water on a fever. The only problem is that she isn't against him any more, there is nothing to grind against, nothing to ease the nearly painful ache in between her legs. It is driving her mad and he is going so slow, each movement of his hands is getting her closer and closer to something she is sure she will never actually reach and she finds herself gripping at the sheets under her.

Eyes half open, she watches him above her, the dark hair and features, his long artist fingers undressing her like he has done probably a hundred times before but with such different intent at the moment then ever before. She doesn't find herself embarrassed under his gaze, her head back, body easy, relaxed and open for his touch and gaze, why bother hiding herself now? He has seen it all before, and he has always told her that she is beautiful. Body issues aren't really an issue in this family, she knows that she is attractive for good or for bad, and she knows that he wants her outside of his words, even if that is bad. She finds her eyes drawn to the waistband of his slacks and how badly she wants to touch him there, to release him to feel just how hard he is.

Her legs stretch as he begins his slow kisses down her leg, long and well shaped from all those lessons, dancing, swimming, she moves how he bends her, easy and flexible, letting him take his time and show her just how good she can feel. All those kisses aren't as good as his fingers, oh, so close, so very close she cries out against his mouth when he touches her there, even through the thin fabric. Something so protected, use to only her fingers, his are like a night and day difference. When he pulls her panties down she gasps low, hips arching, and the air feels like relief against her cunt.

Still not as good as the touch of his fingers. But at this point she is sure that a strong breeze would trigger an orgasm from her. His fingers. Oh. It's something of an out of body experience. A nirvana. Heaven, hell, some sort of religious ecstasy. "D-do you feel what you do to me?" Her fingers dig into his shoulders and she comes, hips arching off the bed as she bites down on her bottom lip to stifle her cries, as if she was alone late at night with her own fantasies and not under him living it out.

Wet, wet, wet, over his fingers, down on to the sheets as she presses to kiss his mouth, to stifle her noises there instead of behind her own lips.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

"I do, my God, Salome." He chuckles warmly, mouth nuzzling against hers. "I've never felt a girl get so wet so fast." Oh, she's so good for his ego. And even better when she has that first, unexpected little climax that almost gets him laughing from surprise because it arrives so fast and after so few touches, but he swallows it down to avoid making her feel self-conscious. Because that's a quality that's right up there with 'over-emotional' when it comes to ones he expects from a teenage girl.

The way she bites her lip practically seizes his heart, and he grins, the touch of his hand pausing to give her a second to ride out her orgasm. "Good girl, oh, that's my good little angel, doesn't that feel nice." And it looks nice, too, better than nice, the beast inside him snarling like a feral animal struggling to escape a cage that must stay strong lest the monster it contains overwhelm her. His pulse pounds in his skull and into the very tips of his fingers, the sight of her glorious, glorious. Every beat of his heart is another throb in his pants, but the agony is practically pleasurable as he imagines her curled in bed all these years, dreaming of him while getting to know herself.

Then comes that kiss, and he pushes one back, harder, his tongue exploring the recesses of her mouth with utterly tender, vile appetite. When his mouth tilts away so he can take a breath, he grins. "Don't be shy." His fingers plunge again between those lips, brushing over every soft, soaked patch of skin, dancing around her clit and brushing up against it so as to prevent the stimulus from being overwhelming while he warms her back up. "You don't have to be quiet with me. You shouldn't be quiet with me, daddy wants to hear you moan and scream for him." His words are punctuated by two firm brushes over that little bundle of nerves. "That's how he knows he's making you feel good." Both fingers focus on her clit, now, massaging against it, her pussy so slick beneath his skin that he could nearly sob.

He kisses his way back down her throat, his free hand sliding flat against her stomach as he makes his way between her legs. Lips parting, he takes a deep breath, more a gasp, of appreciation for the sight of her. His fingers spread her wide and he bends his head, pressing a chaste kiss against her cunt that looks like a filthy mockery of his pecks of paternal affection. Then, jaw falling open, the flat of his tongue strokes in one long, agonizing lap, covering the entire length of that beautiful valley between her legs, the taste of her pure, practically sweet in his exaggerating mind's eye, infinitely scrumptious. Richard groans, nuzzling his lips against her, almost panting.

"Salome, Salome, you taste good enough to eat, my God." His arms slip beneath her thighs, pulling her close against a mouth that works with the ravenous fervor of a starving animal coming upon a banquet. His eyes stay firmly locked upon hers, written with wonder as much as lust that increases exponentially by the very second. God, his precious little girl, his favorite worldly treasure, somehow she's managed in an instant to increase her value beyond measure.

The first boyfriend who fucks her is going to end up dead in a gutter.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Fast, slow, she has no idea if what she does is normal. The only thing that she does know is that it feels good, so, so fucking good, and she isn't about to hold back now. It seems completely unnecessary. This could be a once in a life time chance to feel this with him and she isn't about to stifle herself any more. He wants her, he wants her so very badly and wants everything that comes along with it. To deny him would just end up denying herself and weakening something very special between them. Even as she breathes against his mouth and grabs on to his shoulders, she is firmly aware that she does not plan on making this a one time only thing. Every time she can get something from him she will, gladly and that only increases her arousal.

So dirty. So forbidden, and so very readily available from him. Their little secret. She is good at keeping secrets.

"It feels good, oh, your fingers are so much better then mine, daddy." Even the small, sudden orgasm is almost better then the one's she has had at her own fingers late at night. It's better because it is under his gaze, under his fingertips, and it's his fingers that force her long legs sprawled open, touching her in such a skilled way, to keep her wet and feeling good, but not to over stimulate her causing her hips to tilt and her legs to shut. Even if it did ache she would find it hard to shut her leg around him. When he tells her her noises are acceptable she nods, whimpering and groaning out as she tilts her legs up toward his fingers.

She feels so dirty, so full of sex and a sort of depravity opiate. It's not something that she shies away from, but seems to embrace and want more of. There doesn't seem to be any uncertainty in her when she watches him kiss down her body to her cunt. Eyes open. This is filth. This is wrong. Blood between her legs doing things to her in such a knowing, straight forward manner. Up on her elbows for a better view, her head falls back when his tongue moves over her cunt and she cries out.

Liberating.

"Eat it all, daddy, lick it all up." Her hand moving over his dark hair, gripping at the strands as she pushes herself up against him, eyes dark, teeth bared as she watches him, just as wrong and depraved as she is, and that just makes it so much better.

Misery isn't the only thing who wants company.

Each pass of his tongue gets her shuddering and gasping, it won't be long till she comes again and it will be one hell of an orgasm. She grinds against his face, wanton, aggressive, looking for more of him, more pleasure. "I want to come all over your face, I want to come all over your fingers, and when you finally put your cock inside of me, I am going to be soaked. Look what you've done to me, daddy."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Christ, Christ almighty, now that's his little girl. Now, it's not in him to let this be a one-off, and it's horrible and stupid and dangerous with Delilah but she's not going to stop him, she won't even know. Salome is a trustworthy girl, her word worth so much more than her mother's. She'll be good, he's sure she'll be good. And even if she's not, fuck, who could help it when she cries out the way she does, groans and whines and says such filthy, vile things like the wicked little creature she is.

"Where did you learn to speak like that, young lady?" He chuckles darkly, nuzzling against her clit while she grinds against him like a bitch in heat. "Not that I'm complaining, I love a pretty girl with a dirty mouth."

He suspects it's like that old drug PSA--'I learned it by watching you!'--and the idea of Salome eavesdropping on the hyper-rare occasions when he's had a woman over while she was visiting strikes him with another peel of perverse joy.

Richard groans while she grips her hair, presses herself up against his mouth with an aggression that makes him proud, and he pours himself into his work upon her, his tongue merciless against her save for the moments he pauses to suckle against her clit or gently, so gently, brush his tongue and lips against the soaked entrance. He pays careful attention to her body language, the tension in her muscles, and one finger teases against her tight little cunt before slowly, patiently sliding within her.

A growl of desire peels from his lips while he nuzzles against her, the finger within her stroking, teasing, consumed by the tight, wet depths of her. "Jesus, oh, Salome, pretty girl, your little cunt is incredible--you naughty, wicked little girl." His finger twitches within her, lips working against her clit between the words. "I can't believe how excited you are to let your daddy fuck you." He licks his chops, the taste of her intoxicating. "And you taste so good, I can't stand it."

Holding back is so difficult, it makes his ears burn and his skull throb like his cock, but he needs to. Just a little longer. "We need you nice and soaking wet so that when you finally get to have daddy's dick it'll feel wonderful. Soak the sheets for me, pretty baby, I want to make you feel better than you've ever felt." One hand pushes her legs wider, then spreads her lips again, and a second finger joins the first while his mouth resumes its work, all of it with the goal of making her explode, the moment senseless, mad, vile, and one of the more painfully erotic things he's ever experienced for it.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

He's not far off at all. His mouth isn't exactly clean and neither is her mother's, but she is more interested in hearing him, what he says to the women he fucks (that she knows of) and what they say in response. Because that's what he likes and she wants to give him what he likes so he likes her. It comes naturally too perhaps, she knows the words and she knows what she wants, they just come out when he is staring at her with his dark eyes, with his tongue buried inside of her, pressing in between her legs like an eager boyfriend. Get her wet enough, worked up enough and he can finally put his cock inside of her.

"I could hear you, sometimes, when you thought I was asleep and you'd bring someone home. I could hear you through the door. I wanted to know what you liked in the women you fuck." Her fingers twist in his hair, twirling around her fingers as she stops watching him for a moment in order to groan. Yes, tongue, licking and licking and for everything he laps up she just gives more to him. His shift has her opening her eyes and sitting up even more to watch him push a finger inside of her. Feeling it - that's one thing. Seeing it - that makes it so much more real.

She cries out, her hand falling from his hair to herself, spreading herself open, one leg nearly falling off the bed in her attempt to get herself open enough for him. Just one finger, there is a slight ache but more pleasure then anything else and she stares, panting, disheveled as he fingers her. "It's tight isn't it? I'm not wicked, daddy, I saved myself for you. So you could feel how good I am, and you could show me how to fuck. Oh, I'm a good girl, daddy. You're the wicked one, making me wait this long for you."

Another finger, and another cry, this is a little more ache but she finds it worth it. The pain just makes everything else feel good and as soon as his finger pushes inside of her she squeezes around him, coaxing him deeper, her hips rocking against him slightly, fucking herself on him as she watches from above her vision growing cloudy as her need grows. When she comes for the second time her hips arch high and freeze as she cries out, eyes falling shut helplessly as she falls back against the bed. There is no staying up, staying up would require brain energy that should be devoted to her orgasm, and she gives over to it, rocking herself on his fingers, crying out his name, and wetting his fingers and the sheets. The wetter she gets the easier his fingers are to take.

"Daddy, oh, fuck!" She writhes for him, reaching for - something - him - more. This overwhelming need for more, even his fingers aren't enough.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

The little cries she gives in reaction to his fingers are better than the sweetest symphonies; to think, she has the audacity to accuse him of being the wicked one. To think that she saved herself for him--God, God, he has no idea what he's done to make her end up like this, it wasn't intentional, and that makes it so much better. Perhaps it's genetic. That would make sense on multiple levels.

Then she hits that beautiful climax, so much lovelier than the last, long and deep, rattling through her until she clamps down around his fingers so tight that it streaks through him, down his ribs and straight into his cock. Jesus, fuck, he can only imagine the way it feels, and it brings forth a snarl of primal pleasure that's wrenched from his utterly helpless lungs and let out against her beautiful, damp thighs.

She cries for him, reaches out for him, and he gently slides his fingers from her to embrace her, his eyes and body mad with barely-contained hunger that brims out only in his voice, the clench of his jaw, the look in his eyes as if he's going to open his maw and swallow her whole. "That's right, babydoll, come for daddy, oh, my good, wicked girl, tell me how you feel. You're so fucking gorgeous when you come." His thumb traces over the soft pillow of her lower lip before coming to rest at the corner of her mouth. "Tell me what you want, Salome, do you want your daddy's cock?"

His nose brushes over hers. "It might hurt a little at first, pretty girl." Oh, his little girl, his daughter, what the fuck, but it's irresistible, this moment, and it feels so good, and he loves her so much he could take a bite out of her throat, he could crush every bone in her body. He loves her to absolute pieces, like she's a part of himself, like she's something to consume, his little Salome, and he shudders against her, catching her face in his hands and kissing her mouth again and again as if to steal her ecstasy from her along with her breath.

"But daddy loves his adorable little minx. So he's happy to be patient."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She feels as though she has been swimming for a very long time. Lap after lap till her arms and legs feel like jello and her breath hurts in her lungs. It's such a wonderful feeling, coupled with this near panic over drowning, like she needs to find air, where did it all go? She gasps and gasps as her eyes open and she stares up at the ceiling of her bedroom, all hazy and watery like peering up from the bottom of a pool. She has no idea how to move, what to think or to feel so she just lets herself float, twitching against him and the bed, riding out the aftershocks of her orgasm, basking in that glow that she has not felt before - not this strongly. She is safe and loved and she can feel him and hear him moving against her.

His touch to her mouth brings her back to him and she smiles, nipping at the finger that presses against her mouth and she nods her head slightly. "I want your cock, daddy, I have for such a very long time." She reaches for him, her hands on his biceps as if she could pull him up her body. He is able to do that himself and when he is against her and his mouth to hers, she wraps her arms around him and kisses him over and over, his mouth is like wine. Someone had to write that line before, but she finds it's true. Each time she kisses him she falls deeper and deeper till she feels like she is spinning as fast as possible like she did when she was little. Spinning around and around till she falls down and the whole world goes around her behind her eyelids.

She gives him her breath, her kiss, her tongue and while she is giving him that, she reaches down between them to give him some relief for his cock. Undoing his belt, working on the fly of his slacks as she opens her eyes slowly and smiles. "I know it's going to hurt, I'm not scared. I know you wouldn't hurt me intentionally." Yeah, right, he'd never, but that's something for another day.

"You make me feel so good, so safe and so depraved all at the same time. It's so much better knowing you're just as dirty as I am, that you want this as much as I do. And you do, don't you? I can feel how hard you are, I can see in your eyes just how much you need it. Tell me you want my cunt."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Oh, those words, a more beautiful phrase has never been uttered by this girl before. Each word is better than the last. That slender hand finds its way to his belt, his fly, and he gasps at what little relief is provided--even from beneath his boxers, it's still room, blessed room, and her hand is so agonizingly close that the proximity could kill him.

A crooked grin overcomes him when she says he'd never hurt her. Not out of spite, he wouldn't, no--but because he had to, because the muscles in his arms scream even now to grab her, squeeze her. That pretty neck would feel so perfect beneath his hands, it's too tempting, and with a groan of frustration he finds himself reaching down to take hold of her hips, just for the sake of grabbing onto her.

Grinning broader, Richard nuzzles up against her lips. "Daddy's dirtier than you could ever hope to be, little girl." Although she's plenty dirty, he has to admit, and it is delightful. He clamps his teeth shut just a centimeter away from her pretty mouth and reaches down, freeing himself from his boxers, his cock throbbing for her, so hard that the sting of all this delay is almost giving him a headache. He sits up against the headboard of the bed, senses blurring together while he strokes her hair and bends to press kisses across her eyebrows.

"Of course I want this, Salome, of course daddy wants your cunt." Every word out of him is a husky growl, the real Richard clawing his way through the mask of daddy, or perhaps blending with it. "That tight, beautiful wet little pussy--oh, fuck, princess, daddy wants to wants to be the first and best screw you'll ever have, he wants to fill you up and make you feel so good you don't even remember your name." Nuzzling against her ear, Richard takes her hand and draws her up. "Come here and sit in my lap, little girl, you haven't sat in my lap for years and years, I've missed it. Come curl up and play with me, we can feel good together."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

It feels as though time is standing still. She has no idea how long it's been since they started this play, it feels like it could be minutes or years. It doesn't really seem to make a difference, the downstairs door is closed, there is no getting out, there is no getting in. This is a black hole absorbing, feeding off energy and light, dragging it down into it's depths where the laws of time and physics don't apply. All time stops in a black hole. There is no escaping it's power and once you're in it, you're in it for all of forever. Till the entirety of everything ceases to be. And this pleases her. This idea of forever and the forever of all of forever, somewhere caught between his kisses and his caresses. This is life.

His hands take over for her and she lets go, tilting her head enough to look down between them so she can see how his hands move, and what he looks like. That makes her blush and look away with her fingers to her mouth in order to somehow cover up the smile. Probably not the most mature thing to do, but she still has a ways to go with that. He is hard, that much is obvious, and it seems confusing to her why he would ask her to climb up on to his lap when he wants so clearly to fuck. It seems to her that the easiest way would be for him on top - but he's the expert here so she doesn't question him.

Instead she moves up into his lap, well, tries to. The usual way she sits on his lap, side saddle, well there appears to be something in the way, and straddling him, well, there's something in the way there too. It would probably be a little bit easier to accommodate him if she was straddling him. Grinning and blushing furiously she manages to look up at him for guidance. "How would you like me to sit on your lap, daddy?" Moving her tongue over her bottom lip she glances down at him as she reaches over to touch him. Fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking downward, to feel him, to explore him with her fingers.

"You're so big! I didn't know . . ."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

That little smile of hers comes close to giving him a coronary and spurs a grin of his own. Adorable, sheer beauty, and oh, yes, he wants very, very badly to be the one in complete and total control, but he's all too aware that the minute he's inside of her he's going to lose his grip on himself and ravage her. And that's no way for a man to treat his little girl, not when it's her first time. Far better to keep her on top, he doesn't want to completely traumatize or cripple her right out of the gate.

Richard grins, never having felt more horrifically lecherous in his life, and he's got a history of some pretty awful shit. It's strange, she's just a beautiful fireball of want and need but there's still this surreal nativity lurking on the surface, like lilies floating upon a crystal pond. It makes her infinitely attractive, especially the way she blushes, that shy, shy little grin that he could just gnaw off her face. He wants to take that lingering innocence apart piece-by-piece, shred it up and devour.

First he laughs gently at her adorable question, but then those fingers wrap around him and seize his lungs--an instant, sharp groan heaves from him, and he lets his tongue flicker out against the velvet one that teases over his lip. And oh, that compliment. His head is already so big, Salome, need you make it bigger?

"That's why I want you in my lap when we play, for now." His voice is a devious purr, a bastardization of every tender note that's ever found its way into his voice. "So that way you can have a little more control, and daddy won't accidentally hurt you. And feel how hard you make me? I want to be careful. You're bound to make daddy lose his mind, and it would be terrible if I pushed you too far, too fast. So we'll just take it easy, a little bit at a time."

His hands find her hips and slither down her thighs, gently arranging her to straddle his lap. Fingertips sliding between those legs and up into that beautiful, infinitely tight little channel, he draws her mouth to his with his free hand to kiss her while he grows better-acquainted with her body. She's so wet, so near to his cock, he'd love nothing more than to slam up into her, but somehow he resists the urge for now and coaxes her forward, his fingers crooking within her while carefully, oh-so-carefully he aligns the head of his cock to the place where his fingers play. They slide free, and both his hands again rest upon her hips while he brushes his nose to hers and stares up into her beautiful eyes, his own dark with ageless, horrible desires for his own flesh and blood.

The mere thought that this is really happening is enough to make him shudder, let alone the contact of the head of his cock to the tight, wet little hole between her thighs. His mouth nuzzles against hers. "Just relax, sweetheart. Take a big breath and let it out nice and slow. Tell me if it hurts, or if you want to go slower; we can."

And gently, but firmly, he draws her down and begins to push just barely inside of her.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Well that certainly does make sense. And the rational thought suddenly sends a sort of chill through her, something that runs down her back, like when someone says they feel as if someone has walked over their grave. She isn't sure why. Maybe it's the reality of the situation that is bleeding through, past the sort of pink bubble gum haze of her brain on how this would work. In fantasy there is no hurt, there is no need to be careful or go slow because the fantasy is based on experience or a perceived reality. This, in real life, things do hurt, and he does lose control and that is why she is on top. For as good as she feels there is, for a sudden moment a bright and glaring spot in her brain that reminds her that this will probably hurt - and she is scared.

Not enough to make her stop, but there is a fear that it will hurt severely and that she won't do it right and he will be disappointed in her. Maybe she should have done this with someone before so she could be better for him. The last thing in the world she wants to do is disappoint him.

He is so kind though, he wouldn't be disappointed in her, would he?

He pulls her and he kisses her, caressing and encouraging and she takes her place over top of him, moving as he dictates and sighs against his mouth as she continues to stroke him, to let her hand explore and get used to the size and feel of him, the noise that he makes when he is pleased. The more action she gives herself over to the less thought that she has for the fear and uncertainty. It will be like before, nervous at first and then, when she gives it, it will be the best feeling, the best experience.

His fingers. She groans and shudders, her hip being lead forward by his finger, pulling her where he wants her, and she opens her eyes to look at him, once again falling into the trance of pleasure and feeling instead of thought and anxiety. Her breath is shaky, she breathes in and lets it out slowly like he tells her, just relax, just ease into it. Nice and slow, there is no need to rush.

So she begins to move, under his guidance, sliding him inside of her, sinking down, very carefully - lips parted, her breath shaky as she looks between his face and between their legs, torn between the two sights. Another groan, his head is inside of her and there is that ache that she is growing to love. "Oh, daddy, oh, it's good, you feel so fucking good."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

If she asked him now, he'd probably tell her he'll never be disappointed in her ever again. The idea of being disappointed in her is unfathomable when he feels the way he does now, her in his lap. No, no, she did the right thing coming to him first, because even if she changes her mind for now there are always other avenues, and he's a patient man even if there's something horrible lurking deep inside him.

Those shaky breaths are so sweet, sweet as the feel of her surrounding the head of his cock, every nerve flaring up in his brain so hard that he feels on the verge of blacking out. "Salome, Christ, you're so tight, oh, babydoll, don't you feel nice, perfect. Tell me when you can't take anymore and I'll stop." He nuzzles up against the curve of her throat, pushing soft kisses up and down her flesh, the scent of her skin as overwhelming as that of her arousal. One careful inch at a time, he coaxes her down, lifting her up occasionally to give her a few seconds to get used to the sensation of him sliding in and out of her, and every further inch makes it harder and harder to think.

One hand lifts to slide between her legs, brushing and pressing against her clit to give her pleasure in hopes of muting or blending any discomfort, because it would be disappointing if she were hurt and reluctant to do it again after this, especially with the way she feels around him, and the look on her face, that beautiful open mouth that his tongue darts against.

She clenches around him, fitting like a too-tight, soaking glove, and everything horrible in the back of his head says, just slam inside her, get it over with, fuck her good and hard, imagine what it must feel like to be completely inside of her. But the rest of him fights the insidious thought back, and he kisses her, instead, gradually coaxing her down the hard length of his shaft until she tells him to stop.

Groaning, Richard presses his mouth to her ear, his words pouring straight into it in a hot, whispered snarl. "You can't even imagine how good you feel, baby, I've never felt anything so tight. Oh, isn't this nice, is daddy's cock everything you hoped it would be?"

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She isn't going to tell him to stop. There is no way to stop now. It's too good, even the pain, and there is pain, even that she thrives off of. There is a stretch and almost a burn as she takes him, working him inside of her carefully, in painstakingly long seconds of her life. If it feels like this to her, like forever and ever, she can't even imagine how he feels, taking her, keeping his hands on her and his hips to the bed. He could just slam up inside of her and take her now, ending all the agony in the slow sink down on top of him.

At some point she feels like it's ripping off a band-aid, or taking medicine. It hurts and it's disgusting but agonizing over it just makes it worse. Still, she can't seem to bring herself to take that plunge, to end it all and take him inside of her. It has her shaking and panting, all those inches that she does manage and caresses inside of her. The wet of her helps, his fingers on her clit helps even more. A shuddering breath in and then out and she rests her forehead against his shoulder when she hits a stopping point. Or more like hits a barrier, something that stops her from going any further and she gasps out. "Please, wait, stop." Just for a minute, just until -- his words, they send something down her spine. A shiver. A gasp out and she licks her lips at the sound of him.

"Yes," she whispers out her answer. "It's everything I hoped it would be, you feel so good, and I can feel you stretch and fill me up. It's nothing I've ever felt before." Her hip begin again, except it's up and down on what she has taken in so far, up and down, working her, stretching her and getting her groaning on top of him again. His words, she needs this, she needs his cock and he needs her.

Digging her fingers into his shoulders she finally pushes herself down on top of him, slamming hips into hips and causing her to cry out in surprise and hurt. Her eyes water at the final few inches, of all of him inside of her, past that barrier and the pain. Like stubbing her toe or plucking out a random, stray hair. There is a rush and a gasp as she wraps her arms around him, her face against the side of his neck. And for a moment she clings to him and shakes a little as she gets used to this new feeling and this idea that it's over, that she is his in a way that she wasn't before. "Daddy. . ."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

As soon as she says 'stop', he does, and that's a great testament, because Richard has never, ever so much as paused when a woman has asked him to stop, save for Delilah. That makes two women in the past four months he's actually done that for--when it rains, it pours, apparently.

How strange; maybe he's mellowing out.

It's not great sacrifice to stop; the sensation is incredible as it is, he would probably lose consciousness if he were all the way inside of her at this point. The way she squeezes around him is so perfect, perfect as everything else about her, and the compliment to the way he makes her feel gets him feeling as tender as it does turn him on.

But then--then, after a few moments of her sweet hips bouncing upon his cock, she slams down, and the sensation slams up into his head so fast that for a second it's as if his retina disconnects. "Oh, fuck, Salome." The back of his head meets the headboard, and his arms tighten around her like a boa constrictor tensing to squeeze the life out of a mouse. He moans, that beautiful face pressed against his neck, and his eyes squeeze closed while he struggles to swim through the sensation and grasp some consciousness, to find the words to comfort the girl who clings to him the way she might have years ago after taking a spill or getting herself scraped up.

One hand rests upon the back of her head, his fingers gathering, tangling in her hair, his body overcome with uneatable pleasure that radiates from his pelvis. "Sh, there, Salome, see, princess, that wasn't so bad. Oh, Christ." He breathes hot against her ear, his hands moving up and down her back, his being consumed in its entirety by her, this moment. The thought comes over him, the sudden realization that he's just taken his daughter's virginity, and a shudder of lascivious joy streaks through his bones. He grins darkly against her ear, humming, crooning, kissing.

"My beautiful little daddy's girl. Jesus, you feel so good." He nuzzles up against the top of her head and rocks her through her trembling, the motion inadvertently, occasionally causing another spike of pleasure to streak through him. "What a good girl you are, and how brave, and how sweet of you to give your daddy such a special gift. I'm a lucky, lucky man, aren't I, having a wonderful daughter like you."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

It seem like this is one of those moments that are make or break. Maybe another one, there can be more then one in a set period of time. The beginning of this journey was the first, and through it all it seems as though he has made the right choice in his actions, or as right as one can get when it comes to your daughter coming on to you and asking to take her virginity. He could have said no, he could have reacted the same way his mother did with him, with shame and something akin to horror. But he didn't, he took her in and took her, and didn't make her feel like a freak, or something wrong, and that is probably the best and worst thing for this moment in time.

Compared to the path of rejection they could have gone down, this is probably the best outcome she could hope for. The idea of rejection by him would have been bad. Would have been very bad indeed and it could very well have ended with someone's throat being crushed, or nearly crushed.

On the outside he is everything she needs, someone who understands, who can lead and show her, someone who is kind and soothing. If he wasn't her father this would probably be the beginning of a very well balanced and sweet relationship. Since when has DNA been a deal breaker for a good and sweet relationship anyway?

He coos and strokes her back and she relaxes against his chest. His acknowledgement of what this is, what she has given him is something that is unexpected. When she trembles this time it is because of his words, because he appreciates her and that means the whole world to her. In her short life she has never felt so close to someone like this before, never felt so loved. It's a dangerous combination, and it's a dangerous association to begin. However that's not something that she is thinking about at the moment, she is soaking up his words like they are sunlight and oxygen, she is clinging to him and kissing over his shoulder and up his throat to his ear.

Her words are soft and probably a little off set by the fact that she is beginning to rise and fall on top of him, fucking him in a sort of experimental, clumsy fashion. It's her first time and she needs to get used to this. "I love you. I love you and there is no one else on this world that I would give myself over to like this but you. I need you to know that I would do anything for you, daddy. Anything."