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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.

Comments

[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."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Oh, poor, naive little Salome. If only she knew the kind of man her father really was, she wouldn't make the mistake of thinking it would be a well-balanced relationship. Or that it would be sweet. As it stands, this is as sweet, genuinely sweet, as she could hope for, and it's thanks to shared DNA--this is the transmutation of pre-existing, genuine-if-possessive paternal affection into something surpassing itself, something hungrier, more brutal.

Every time she drops upon him he groans again, until his hands find her hips and help guide her up, down, up, down, nice, smooth, easy motions. His breath is already haggard, his body singing as she kisses his throat and speaks into his ear. Oh, she loves him, she says, but she doesn't, or shouldn't, not like she does, not in the way that drives her to say she'd only give herself over to him--though he appreciates hearing that. Poor, silly little girl, poor thing, he's going to crush her because it's all he can do, she can't be lead on to think that this is some boyfriend-girlfriend happy tra-la-la fairy tale.

No. This is father and daughter; their dynamic hasn't changed, and he's going to have to make it clear to her when all this is over that they've simply added a new layer to their relationship; and that he loves her deeply, consumingly, perhaps even more than he did before, but she can't expect him to make her into his one-and-only.

But he does love her. Love her, love her; he wants to sink his teeth in her, can already see how he'll guide her just a little bit at a time into understanding that a bit of pain now and then can be lovely, too--he'll teach her everything he can and let the bonds of love deepen between them, because as wrong as this feels, it also feels natural, blissful. He couldn't have turned her down--to do it would make himself a hypocrite, and deny himself what has been proven to be a moment of incredible glory, and intimacy, with the beautiful creature he sees in a new, stranger light. Now she's not just his, but she's his, and that possession may not be allowed to go both ways but it is passionate nonetheless.

"I love you, too, Salome." He grins to himself, nuzzling into her hair, moaning sharply at the intoxicating sensation of her cunt so tight around him. "My good girl. Daddy's proud of you. Oh, God--" He breathes sharply and pushes hard kisses against the curve of her shoulder, his eyes squeezing shut. "Oh, this is good, so good, and what sweeter, purer way than for you and I to play together than this." Hands finding her head, he draws her back slightly to press a kiss to her mouth, his hips rocking forward and back while she gets used to moving up and down.

"Let the rest of the world think it's wrong. You and I know how lovely it is, and how special it is. Their scorn only makes it that much more wonderful, doesn't it?" He grins, nose brushing over hers, his eyes glazed and face flush with desire. "It's okay for you to be attracted to your daddy. You're my delightfully wicked, clever little girl, and I will never," his hips rock back, his cock sliding within her tense depths, "never judge you just because you get so excited for me. I'm glad that you do."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

It's going to crush her to figure it all out, to realize that who she wants most in the world doesn't want that in return. That's life, the pain and the brutality of it, the inherent unfairness of it all. Life is cold and unfair and this is something that she will have to learn, and she will learn it brutally from the one person that it probably hurts the most from, double time, from her father and from the man that she is sure that she loves. It's like any good Greek tale, where the pain and the reality of life turns into something brutal and violent. It seems fitting that it would be between father and daughter.

At the moment all she can hear is his words back to her, all those beautiful little words that he has said to her before (well not all) but in such a different manner then before. They are more thrilling then before, they mean more, they seem to sink deeper because that's what happens when a person opens themselves up to it. For all the good and the pleasure that is released and absorbed the some goes for pain and disappointment, present or future. It's the give and take of life, the balance between what we get and what we give. But he loves her, this she knows, and now that he sees it as well there won't be a need for anyone else besides her. She can spend more time with him, away from her mother's house, and everything will be so much better then before.

Crash and burn. What a train wreck. What an absolute mess. After he is done with her they are going to need dental records to identity her.

He burns inside of her, gripping her, filling her in such a way that causes her to gasp and groan out. There is no pain now the thrusting under his hands has driven away any ache, till she is gasping and groaning out on top of him, clinging to his biceps and kissing his mouth viciously. He feels good, so very good and she works herself better on top of him, still slow, still sometimes awkward but much easier now with his hand to guide her and his grip on her.

"I knew you wouldn't, you wouldn't judge me, you wouldn't reject me." No she didn't. "You could never, we're too much alike." If by alike she means that she is pure of heart and he is a dick, sure. Eyes open, she smiles at him, touching his cheek and kissing him happily once again before letting her kiss move down over his throat, nipping at him and hurrying her cunt down on top of him even faster. "You feel so good, daddy, oh, we should have done this before, we shouldn't have waited so long. Fuck."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

[I feel like I'm letting Richard kick a puppy over and over, oh lord poor Salome.]

Oh, he wants her. And not a single problem will be had continuing to want her, continuing to love her in this way, while he is with Delilah. And she won't like it, the poor girl, but the way he loves her now is as much as she can hope for from him. Especially right now, Christ, any man who falls in love with a sixteen-year-old girl, no matter her relation or lack thereof, is a complete sap, or a nut, or both. Likewise, he can only hope she'll grow out of this phase of being in love with him; he can only guide her through it as best he can, do what he can to neutralize the damage that's no doubt unavoidable, and lessen it in the future.

Richard chuckles gently, hips arching up against hers with increasing fervor, now, the last of his self-control burning away to leave nothing behind. "We're alike in many ways, oh little apple of my eye. So many." Those little nips inspire a symphony of sighs and groans, the sensations mingling with the ones she squeezes from his cock. "It's a good thing you waited, baby, if you were much younger daddy would have had to tell you 'no'. And you know he hates doing that."

A sharp sigh peels from his lips and his hand dances between her legs, even the clumsiest, newest motions of that sweet young body of hers so beautiful he can't bear it. His free hand strokes up and down her leg, her back, that adorable, pert little ass; everywhere he can touch, he touches as though the palms of his hands had tastebuds. Finally, his hand presses firmly against her abdomen, angling her back, his thumb lowering to stroke her clit while she slides up and down his shaft with a pressure and pace that makes him feel as though he's been lobotomized.

"Oh, baby, sweet Salome, your poor daddy can't take much longer." He groans, leaning forward to suckle upon her lips while sparks of surreality fly behind his eyes. "Come on, baby, cum for me, just one last time for now, and daddy will fill that pretty little cunt up with his cum because you're his, aren't you, oh, Salome, all mine, mine, such a good girl, coming to your daddy for this." A fire blazes behind his eyes, spread from the one that burns along his flesh, the pressure building in his skull until he feels it's nearly impossible to resist. He makes hard, intense eye contact with her, the hand that isn't against her abdomen reaching up to fit against the curve of her cheek.

"Let me hear you scream for me, babydoll."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

[Well yeahhhhhh - to be fair she is asking for it, and it would have happened no matter what.]

It's not untrue. Falling in love with a sixteen year old girl is like asking to be curb stomped. It just doesn't work. She is young and overly emotional, even if she does have her feet somewhat planted on the ground there is just too much crazy and instability going on in there to have any romantic relationship. She doesn't see this of course, she sees this as the beginning to something new and romantic, and she has no idea how completely unprepared she is for the truth of him and the truth of the world. The truth is that he can't have her like she wants to be had, and even if he could he probably wouldn't simply because Richard is Richard, and while he appears one way to her there is so much going on below the surface of him that she can't even fathom it. When she is older, maybe, when things are different - maybe.

It's perfect timing and horrible timing all at once.

It makes her smile though, to think that he could say no to her, that one more year less and he would have had to draw a line with her. "I don't think you could ever say no to me, daddy, you want me too much, you love me too much." Her hands move over the line of his jaw, up into his dark hair, holding him against the headboard as she works her hips and groan over the caress of his hands. She can feel him, feel him getting harder, closer to orgasm, another exciting first for her, for them, and she trembles in anticipation on how it will feel, as if his coming inside of her would send off fireworks or something magic inside of her.

His words press her on, like they have done so many times before, she cries out at the press of his thumb against her and as she angles her hips she feels that tight pressing and building between her legs once again. Her thrusts become shorter and quicker and her gasps follow the same pattern. She is pinned by his stare, his words, his fingers and she does what she is told. She screams for him and comes, both violent and both quick and surrounding. Her back arches and her head falls forward as her hips take over, grinding and thrusting down on top of him to take him over and over, to coax an orgasm from him all while prolonging her own.

"Daddy! Oh fuck! Daddy!"

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

This is a good opportunity, really. Crazy, once exposed, should be carefully nurtured and directed, like a rosebush. And he has a green thumb for it; it just takes patience, and time. Luckily, he has both of those things, even with Delilah in his life. It's a chance for him to bond, to impart learnings upon her he would be unable to pass down to an actually stable, healthy girl. And that, well--that makes her all the more adorable to him.

When she hits her climax and cries out the way she does, it's like pulling the trigger of a gun--he barely even hears her words, white noise filling in his ears and static exploding behind his eyes while he snarls her name and slams up into her, control gone, his strokes hard while he loses himself to his orgasm. The pleasure streaks up his stomach and into his head, and he struggles to keep his eyes open, to see her, his daughter, his darling little girl whom he marks from the inside. It's like he's hollowed her out and replaced her with more of himself, and he grips her desperately while he lets go, his hand tightening around the back of her shoulder and the other squeezing her thigh. Because, if it wasn't one of those, it would be her throat.

The whole thing is like a nuclear explosion that blows through his skull, leaving him with a spell of tinnitus. His head lolls back against the headboard and he sighs sharply, his eyes falling closed for a moment while he tries, then fails, to find his breath, his words, something. Instead, he pulls her toward his chest and sweeps the hair from her face, planting a tender kiss upon her forehead. His hands slip down beneath her thighs again, lifting her as gently and slowly as he lowered her.

Breathing ragged, Richard traces his thumb down the curve of her nose, the adorable round of her cheeks, her mouth, her chin. The full force of reality still hasn't quite come back down over him, but even so, he finds himself mystified by the beautiful face, so familiar, yet so strange to see it here, now, in a situation like this.

Still wordless, he kisses the corner of her mouth and gently deposits her beside him, fixing his boxers and his trousers back around his waist before turning to pull her again into his lap, settling her in a far chaster manner despite her nudity. His nose gently bumps hers, and he grins.

"Good girl. Thank you for that, pretty girl, that was wonderful. Did you have a fun time playing with daddy?"

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She doesn't remember a whole lot of what came before. There was pleasure, and there was him, and her climax and the noise of his own - but it all seems like a blur, like something out of a high speed camera that sort of flips in front of her eyes before settling back down inside of her head. She expects to feel something when he comes, and doesn't, besides his grip and the fantastic slam of his hips against hers. But shouldn't there be something more besides that?

She aches. Her hips, her arms, her cunt. She aches from taking him and being taking by him and she hurts up in her stomach for some reason as well and she finds that very odd. In a sort of half smokey thought that appears and then disappears. Spent, she is spent, on the bed next to him, eyes closed and her chest rising and falling quickly as she tries to catch her breath even as her body rolls and trembles from what remains of her orgasm. It is such a weird feeling, being cold detached from what made her feel so good and warm before. It's like being kicked out of heaven and left in the cold and the dark.

It is an oddly emotional experience for her and she has no idea why.

Liking coming down from a massive high, feeling something so great and so powerful and then nothing. All those chemical pleasure centers in the brain now running on low, not being able to give her anything that she needs in order to feel right again.

And he touches her face with his hands that can create beauty from nothing and she blinks wetly at him, looking up at him through this mist of wet from under her eyelids. She pushes it away with the backs of her hands while he fixes himself and pulls her back on to his lap where she rest her head on his chest. That's better, mildly better, like being given something to cushion the fall. She looks at him and then down at her lap, wet and pink, a pink outside of the color of her skin, but more like the pink of diluted blood which makes her frown slightly and spread her legs a bit more with a wince.

"I need to go clean up, daddy. I enjoyed playing with you, I liked it a lot."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Oh, those glistening eyes, he can never resist those. They get him right in the chest, twist up around his heart, but there's more to them, now--as much adoration as there is with desire. He coos at her wince, her cute little frown, and bends to kiss it from her lips before setting her upon the edge of the bed. "Yes, sweetheart, that sounds like a good idea, why don't you do that. Then we can relax together, maybe eat a little, have that talk."

If he can manage to stay awake, holy fuck, it's like she sucked all the energy right out of him.

Bit by bit, the reality of what's just happened comes back over him. His daughter, his little Salome. Goddamn. No, that was a bad idea, that was a terrible, terrible bad idea, and he already knows in that deep instinctual way from not only experience, but from the peculiarities involved in this situation, that she's going to get clingy. Or clingier, anyway, considering the way she is with him in the first place.

Fuck. But it was so worth it. He's never felt so close to her, not like this, and it shakes him. Yeah, it's a good plan for her to clean herself up, because he needs a minute to think about how to approach this discussion. He doesn't even know where to begin. Why don't they write a parenting book on this situation, for fuck's sake? 'The Electra Complex and You: Or, So You've Given In To Your Daughter's Advances And Plan On Going Back For More'. Now that's useful child-rearing literature.

There is no place to start that seems like a good idea. Not without some kind of restraint for her, or perhaps a shield for him. Possibly a mop for her tears when he dissuades her of her more fairy tale notions.

It'll be fine.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

'Incest for Dummies' is a surprisingly good read, very informative she'll pick him up a copy for his birthday.

It's hard to get her legs to work, but they do, awkwardly, and she does a sort of stumble to the bathroom to clean herself up and to gather herself because if he needs to do it then she needs to as well. Not only did she just have sex with her father (good sex) but he came inside of her and she is pretty sure that's not a real big issue, but it shakes her a little bit, in a sort of way that only a child who has been raised about the necessity of condoms could be shaken.

It's so weird, she should feel different. Does she? Maybe, a little bit. There is more ache in her then she expected and she really, really isn't looking forward to having that talk.

It's one thing when your parents walk in on you and your boyfriend, but what the fuck kind of talk will there be when you're fucking your dad? It's probably one of the most awkward birds and bees talk ever in the history of human kind. She would really not like to talk about it. Like really not like to. Maybe he'll go off and paint or do whatever it is that he does in his studio.

If he really wants to go down that path then she'll just blow him, that seems much more reasonable and less awkward then a conversation over Chinese.

After she cleans herself up and slips on a new pair of skivvies, she returns back to the bedroom and back to him and his lap, curling up with him in their half naked state. Her head on his shoulder and her fingers moving over his bare chest. Totally clingy.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Yeah, well, she should have thought about the fact that she didn't want to talk about it before she tried to fuck him. As Richard has somehow failed to learn his entire life but is more than willing to impart, actions--even the most pleasant, mind-blowing ones--have consequences.

He lies there on her bed, feeling bizarre, every glimpse around her room now revealing her in a new light. He feels like he's in a completely foreign land. What the fuck, what the fuck just happened? Christ, that was magnificent, but what should he say? Is there anything to say? How do you have a post-coital 'so we're clear on how this isn't a relationship' talk with your own daughter?

Jesus. Actions really do have consequences. Shit.

But even with that thought in mind, he can't wipe that stupid grin from his face. The consequences are but a small price to pay for the sudden solidifying of his fondness, the way it increases in depth and intensity the more he thinks about her. Christ, he helped her pull her teeth when she was a kid. What in the fuck. He can't decide if this is one of the best or one of the worst things that's ever happened to him. But he supposes that's in keeping with his feelings about his favorite little accident in general.

By the time she returns to curl up with him, that pretty little head leaning against his shoulder, his eyes are closed and his mind is gunning on overdrive even if the rest of him wants to eat and then hibernate for winter. Still, he smiles, kissing her forehead and stroking her arm.

"So." Then he can't think of what to say next, so he just says again, "...So."

Yeah, this is going great.

"I--" He cuts himself off with a chuckle, placing his hand over his eyes and groaning. "My God, Salome, I don't even-- first-- I'm glad we did that. And I love you, very, very much. Very much, especially after that, I'm glad i have a new way to show you how much you mean to me. But we need to have a little discussion about what that was, and where we're going from here, because I think-- okay, you know? Here." He lifts his hand from his eyes and gathers her hair back from her face, his fingertips grazing down her cheekbones. His tone is as gentle as he can manage, already drained as it is from their activities. "Why don't you tell me what you think you mean when you say that you love me. Let's start there."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Ugh. Dad. Really?

Like he is totally embarrassing her in front of her friends at the mall. Ugh. She tries to hide her face against his chest, hiding there seems like a really good idea, really clever, he is never going to think to look for her there, right?! Totally.

Wrong.

if she wasn't blushing before she totally is not, and this is a lot MORE awkward then making eye contact with him while he was going down on her. "I really don't want to talk about that, I mean, isn't that kind of spoiling the afterglow? Plus I am super tired and I don't even want to think about having some sort of post sex talk with you, no offense or anything. I get it, I won't tell anyone about it and we had a good time together, but talking about it - won't that just make it awkward?"

Oh check it out everyone, the princess of cool.

Yeah, just totally lost the v-card to my dad, but I don't care, nothing can phases me. Nope.

Bitch please, she just doesn't want to spoil the moment, that high on life and how everything is going to be roses and snuggling kittens from here on out. But she will say this: "I'd like to do that again with you, I mean, if you want to, if you're up for it. Not right now or anything, but maybe tomorrow?"

Or an hour from now.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

"I assure you, darling, no matter how awkward you think this is for you, I'm the one who's doing most of the suffering." And he is, this conversation is already like pulling teeth and it hasn't even started. "But-- communication is...important, and what just happened between us is probably..." It's getting harder to keep a straight face while he swallows back his sniggering. "--something we should--"

And then he bursts into laughter, himself, the whole situation absurd in the extreme, and no, he doesn't want to ruin this moment, but he knows deep down in his chest that if he doesn't put a damper on this, now, then he's in for a world of hurt later. And the longer he lets her go on thinking that this is romantic-romantic, the more upset she's going to be when he has to reach into her chest and crush her soul.

And then she makes mention of wanting to do it again, and he gives that insatiable grin to the ceiling before drawing her face toward his to kiss the tip of her nose. "Yes, darling, I'd love to do it again." His grin grows to lecherous proportions and he pecks her lips, his hands roving over her back. "And again, and again. We can make it a new, special way of spending time together. I think it will be very good for us if handled correctly. But. We can only do it again once you and I have had a discussion about it, is that clear? And before you get it in your head that you can try to weasel out of it, you can't, so don't bother making the effort."

Because he really, really doesn't want to have this conversation, either, but even he's aware it needs to happen. However, her efforts to delay it give him more time to think, and more time to relax in the tenderness of afterglow with her, so he finds himself with little reason to complain.

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"I don't think you're suffering at all, you're not the one that got all stretched out." Seriously, she is aching over here and she finds it a pleasant ache, something that reminds her of him. He's not suffering, he is laughing and giggling like a little kid. That's not suffering. Him sobbing and looking repentant, now that would be something like suffering but she doubts that she'll get that from him. Still, it is an awkward conversation and neither of them want to have it, he just seems to be the one insisting on it - and she really doesn't get that.

"Oh, so if we don't have the conversation then we don't get to have sex again? Hmmmm I think that might be a slightly unfair trade but I am almost willing to make it. I've gone pretty far in life not having sex with you so I can go without again." Except she probably can't but she'll certainly try. Grinning against his chest she starts laying soft kisses over his bare skin, her hand moving over his side, stroking his flank and then over his hip.

"I don't even know what you want to talk about, everything is fine as it is right now. There's no need to go and mess all that up, I think you're just looking for trouble." Because, really what can you talk about with a woman after you've had sex with her? Not a lot that won't get her all worked up and angry, especially when that woman is sixteen and your daughter.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

"Kiddo, that's why such a talk needs to happen. Because I want to make certain that everything stays fine, since what we just got up to is thought of in some circles as a fairly big deal." She presses those kisses to his chest, and that hand drifts, and it all almost--almost distracts him, but he catches himself before he can fall for whatever spell she's weaving with those fingertips of hers and slips his arms beneath hers. He draws her up, tucking her head beneath his jaw.

Yeah, sobbing and repentant, right. He just had one of the top five most theoretically magnificent sexual experiences in his existence, so as unlikely as he is on a normal day to be repentant, it's impossible now. Richard nuzzles up against the crown of her head, breathing deep the scent of her hair and then sighing.

"You get this from me, you poor thing. Not that I'm complaining. And no, princess, I'm not looking for trouble. I just want to make sure that you and I are completely kosher, on the same page, cool, hip. 'Swag'." You can hear the quotation marks around it as he says it. "Do people really say that? Is that even how you use that word?" He's not that old, not at all, but she makes him feel old simply by virtue of the fact that she's his daughter, and daughters are supposed to be young while their fathers are supposed to be old, even if the age difference is only nineteen measly years.

"Anyway. I'm fine to let it lie for now. And I'm fine to call your bluff, too." He tweaks her nose and grins. "But before you and I play together like that again, I just want to make sure we're on the same page, because I don't want you getting any bad ideas, and I don't want this turning into something you're going to have to go into therapy for in ten years."

His head drops back against the pillow and his eyes shut--oh, sweet, cool, blissful darkness--while his fingers comb through her hair. "In a perfect world, we wouldn't have to discuss this at all. You should consider yourself lucky I'm a good enough father to take this situation seriously enough to talk about it with you."

Yes. Because good fathers open a dialogue with their daughters after they fuck. Dad of the Year, ladies and gentleman.

Dad.

Of.

The.

Year.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"It's only a big deal if you make it a big deal. I mean, it's kind of a big deal but it's not like we're getting married or anything like that." But it would be pretty awesome if they wereeeeeee~. See, she isn't seeing the big deal or that there could possibly be a difference in how they see what just happened until he actually breaks it down for her and when he does, oh man, that is going to be a pretty earth shattering experience for her.

She gets this from him? What does that even mean?

Wait, did he just use the word 'swag?'

She starts giggling helplessly against his chest, shaking her head. "Noooo swag is like attitude, and I really don't think it's Kosher, I'm pretty sure they can eat pork products." Bad humor is what she got from him, clearly. Urban Dictionary defines swag as: appearance, style, or the way he or she presents them selves. Old man. Sooo funny.

Like he'd send her to therapy. "I doubt that I am going to end up in therapy over this," famous last words. "I am happy like this, with you, and I don't want to do anything to ruin that." Though he might, what the hell, dude, even she gives him a bit of a look when he drapes himself across the fainting couch with his dad of the year routine.

She's gotta get him a mug or something. Outside of the one she bought him one father's day when she was just a little kid.

His eyes close and she makes a face at him.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Richard snorts. Marriage is an unnerving enough concept, thanks. But, the fact that she seems to think it isn't a big deal is at least somewhat reassuring, because outside of the fact that culture dictates that it be some kind of tremendous, flip-turning life upside-down kind of deal, he doesn't see it as one. He understands conceptually that incest is supposed to be some horrid, scarring experience, but it's not like he was messing around with her when she was ten. This is a sixteen year old girl. Sixteen year old girls have sex drives. If he wasn't going to do it, somebody else was, and then he would have had to bust some kneecaps.

If rationalization were a superpower, he'd make himself a costume and go be a villain. Because he is excellent.

Besides--he enjoyed the hell out of it, physically and mentally, and more than simply for the taboo. He's been wearing this big, gawky mask, play-acting for sixteen years. It's nice to have room to breathe around her, to have a few moments where he doesn't have to worry too much about what's inside of him showing through. Restraint still has to be exercised, of course, but if anything could possibly foster the healthiest unhealthy relationship between a psychopath and the apple of his eye, this sort of thing is it.

Chuckling at the face she makes, Richard digs his fingers into her ribs to tickle her until he gets at least a squeal, then kisses the temple of her forehead. "Well, I'm glad you're happy. I'll let it go for now, then." Which is a relief to him, although the next time he mentions Delilah he's sure shit's gonna go down. "You are really something else, Salome. I can't tell you how pleased I am." He grins, flicking a glance down the form that stretches out, those long, tawny limbs that drape against his and across the bed. A shiver overcomes him, his mouth burying itself against her neck, her shoulder. The scent of her soft skin is nearly overwhelming even in the heady afterglow; he chuckles darkly, planting a tender little peck against her pulse.

"I remember when you were little. I don't remember how little, but you kissed me and tried to slip me tongue because that's how you'd seen people kiss in movies and you didn't know the difference." He laughs. "It was adorable, and hilarious. Do you remember that? I had to explain to you that that's how you kiss a boyfriend, not how you kiss daddy. And yet here we are." Richard nuzzles against her ear, kissing the ridge while his fingertips drift between her shoulder blades, his touch ultra-light and sweet.

"I'm quite happy with the adjustment to my previous lesson, I must say."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Rationalization is so easy sometimes, especially when it's something you really, really want. Salome wasn't exactly raised in an environment on 'no,' and 'that's not allowed.' So it seems to her that whatever she really wants she should really get, including her father. It will be a bit of a shock when she figures out that she can't always get what she wants, like the song goes. For the moment however, she can be blissfully unaware of that and just enjoy her own private fantasy with him.

Oddly enough it seems like talking about it (in a subtle, easy way) is helping. Mainly because it is in the form of praise and acceptance instead of shame and denial.

He tickles her and she giggles against him, shrieking first with surprise before putting her arms down to try and protect her bare ribs from his fingers.

"I don't remember that," she admits, climbing on to his lap once again, straddling him and regarding him with a bit of narrow eyed disbelief. "Are you making that up? Who kisses like that anyway, it seems so gross." Her fingers move through his hair, gripping at the headboard behind him as she leans in to kiss him just like that, like they do in the movies. Mouth, tongue, taste. She groans softly for as much of the act as the knowledge that this is so very, very wrong.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Richard breathes a heavy sigh into that sweet mouth of hers, one produced as much by the way she straddles him and the way she groans, as it is by the way she kisses him. A thrill streaks through him at all the new horizons to broaden and explore, hers and his, both. The pads of his fingers drift across her ribs, over that taut stomach that makes him shudder. His tongue, meanwhile, meets with hers, his lips pushing back against hers as though moving to consume. One arm drapes around the back of her neck, his hand creeping over her shoulder.

An entire new avenue to grow close to her with, and an entire new avenue to plunge himself deeper into the most debauched desires. Ah, he loves his life, and he loves his dear little daughter.

Leaning back for air, Richard grins, that lecherous twinkle in his eyes. "See. Positively revolting. Almost as revolting as the idea of inviting you to sleep with me tonight. You wouldn't want that, and you certainly wouldn't want to play together again." His nose brushes up against hers, a playful, put-upon sigh escaping him. "Likewise, you don't want your daddy teaching you all kinds of lovely things about your body, and his. After all, he's just a dirty old man."

His hands lift to comb back her hair while he grins. "And you are a beautiful young siren. My God." Head relaxing back against the pillow, he rakes his gaze over her before finding her face again, his brows knitting. "I hope you haven't been concerned all these years about your carnal interest in me. As far as I'm concerned, it's perfectly touching, and pure, and perfectly natural. Not entirely normal, perhaps, but normal isn't any fun at all, now is it."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She gets that dizzy feeling again as they kiss, it is so intoxicating, she can't help it she wants more. One taste is never enough, in fact just one kiss wakes her up to a whole world of possibilities that didn't seem there before. Sex was there before, she always knew about that, but she wasn't apart of it, not like now, and now the flood gates have opened and she feels a bit more whole and alive delving into it. A slow smile when the kiss breaks and she let's her hands slide down the bare of his chest and let's her lips follow after. Just touching him, all this skin, and this knowledge of how good skin against skin is.

This is what it must have felt like after Adam and Eve ate the apple.

"I want to sleep with you tonight!" She protests looking up from her spot on his chest, eyes wide. "And I want to play with you again, I want to learn everything you can teach me about sex. I'm not going to dispute the fact that you are a dirty old man though." A grin as she puts her head back down on his chest and sighs against him.

"I never gave it much thought, I knew it was wrong - I just never thought we would actually do anything about it so it didn't really keep me up at night. I mean, it's not really that big of a deal, its not like we're going to procreate or anything. I know kids that fool around with their step siblings so what's the big deal?"

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That reaction is better than he could hope for, and he laughs at the big mismatched eyes that stare up at him. His fingers drift down her neck and back while he smiles fondly.

"Exactly right, darling girl. When the ability to procreate is taken from the picture, and both parties are capable of giving informed consent, in my mind, the whole situation becomes perfectly harmless fun, just a new way to show you how terribly I adore you." Granted, there's that huge power gap between a father and daughter, especially when Richard is the father in question; a number of psychological issues which may arise; and that little detail that some people tend to take sex a bit more seriously than he does, for whatever reason, and tend to acquaint it with romance. But those are just side-issues. The philosophical ones are at least moderately covered.

"There are some mild differences, though, between this and kids playing with their step-siblings. That's a situation of peers, and most people would be less disturbed by that because there's no blood relation. However," he grins and straightens her hair out, stroking and smoothing it, "I am the sort of man who finds the idea of a blood relation intensely erotic, and the idea of step-siblings rather trashy. Because that's simply an act of convenience, and curiosity, or perhaps boredom; whereas in our case, physical acts between you and I are products of intense attraction, and the sincere ardor of a father for his little girl, and vice versa."

His fingers tickle gently along her scalp, petting her as though he were scratching a kitten behind the ears while he drifts into thought. A pair of philosophers once argued that incest is impossible, because there are no sexual roles within the family--so, psychologically speaking, the mind flips back and forth in such a case, not thinking of the blood relation as blood, but rather, as an attractive individual who is convenient and available. This is perhaps the case with hillbillies, but Richard, ever the neo-libertine, is a different case. He finds himself attracted as he is to her not just because she is a nubile young woman who is interested in him, but because she is his daughter. It is the defining aspect, not simply of their relationship, but of his carnal feelings toward her. His is a deliberate, insidious, irresponsible descent into the taboo, into stranger, much more beautiful new ground to guide his daughter through.

"I'm glad you have the sense not to worry about these things. But I wouldn't have expected you to get all wound up about it, anyway, you've always been a clever girl. You take after me that way." Richard shoots her a cheeky grin and pats her shoulder. "But you should know that if you have any concerns, or if you're ever worried about what goes on between you and I or the implications surrounding it--which you shouldn't be--then you can talk to me."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"It helps that we can talk about this, and that you understand. It doesn't feel wrong - or that wrong anyway." Not that it felt wrong before, but that was in the heat of passion, on the cool light of day it is a little different. What he says interests her though and she looks up at him a bit more closely.

"You like it then, that's half the enjoyment for you, that I'm your daughter and we're fucking." It's not really a question, but it is, and she doesn't really seem too upset by that if it is the case. While she finds her father attractive because he is a handsome man, she has to admit that there is a greater thrill and pleasure for her knowing that he is her father. There are a lot of boys at school that she finds cute, but none of them do the things to her that her father does.

She isn't sure how she feels about that. It can't be too wrong, he feels the same way, and that feels very nice. What she does find is that the thought makes her wiggle down against his lap a little bit as her cheeks turn pink with blush.

A happy noise under his touch, almost like a soft purr as she sighs a little and toys with the strap of his belt, an idle touch, she is listening to him - mostly, she has to admit however that her thoughts are a bit distracted and scattered.

"I think I can talk to you about anything. You're good with that," he isn't overly emotional (from what she has seen and of course he has his moments.) He doesn't judge her either, like this, this is easy for her because there is no judgment.

Which leads her to say: "I really want to suck you off right now, but I'm not sure if I'll be good enough."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Richard gives her a cheeky, doggish grin and spreads his hands. "Guilty as charged. I keep warning you that your daddy is a bad man, but you never believe me." He chuckles, then stifles a moan while she blushes and wiggles around. Oh, that sweetness, that darling anxiety of a girl dipping her toes into the pool of sex for the first time. "It's more than that, though. I enjoy it because it gives me a chance to share something special with you. Something that most fathers don't get to share with their daughters."

Something that makes sense to him, something that has more substance. A potent, physical way to lay claim to her--he's always been a protective, possessive father, and this is only bound to make it worse. Or better, depending on one's perspective. Certainly from his.

"I'm glad to know you feel that way, babydoll." He smiles fondly, letting her do what she will as she lies upon him and plays around with his belt, his paternal feelings stronger than they've ever been. Papa wolf and the helpless little creature who stumbled into his heart despite the difficulties involved in a young bachelor rearing an intelligent daughter. Isn't she just adora--

--Wow. He laughs for just a note or two, more of surprise than anything else, since boy, that was out of left field. Not that he's complaining at all. At all. There's an intersection where adorable and sexy blend perfectly and although she's still more on the adorable side of the line, that intersection seems just the place for her. Grinning, Richard sweeps his fingertips down her bicep, then back up to her shoulder. "Well, now, it's something that takes a bit of practice, yes. But daddy would be more than happy to teach you how to play with his cock. You haven't had much of a chance to even see it properly, yet."

He grins, feeling absolutely vile, filthy, that wicked glint in his eyes while he coos to her. "And you'd ought to get acquainted with it, since you're bound to see it more often. Though, you want to know a secret?" He lifts his brows and murmurs conspiratorially. "The fact that you want to use that pretty little mouth of yours is a good indicator that you'll do a fine job once you get the hang of it."