Daddy's Girl

'That was considerate of you,' I said as sincerely as I could.

'I wish I hadn't bothered.' Daddy sighed yet again. 'Between you and me, your mother was in a bit of a state.'

'Was she drunk?'

'No, but her hair was all over the place. And her always immaculate makeup was as good as gone. It was only too obvious she'd been doing something more physical than drinking G&Ts.'

'Rubbing her lippy off on someone else's mouth, you mean?'

'Something along those lines, yeah.'

'Did you interrogate her?'

'I asked why she was so late and she told me to fuck off. Sorry to swear, but that's word for word what she said. It's all she said, as well. She stomped off upstairs and I slept on the sofa.'

I frowned. 'I don't see how all this led to you walking out.'

'Neither do I. I set off to work early Saturday and brooded on and off all day. In the end I decided to go home and have a rational, clear-the-air conversation. I intended to be warm, understanding and eager to patch up all of our differences. When I got home I found two packed suitcases in the hall. Naturally, I asked your mother what was going on . . .'

'And . . .'

'And she told me to fuck off for good.'

*****

When I went inside for more drinks I noticed that two of Daddy's more fervent admirers had followed us into the beer garden. They had taken a table not too far from ours but right behind my back, so to speak. That oh-I'm-being-watched feeling I'd had must have been their envious glares.

Sashaying more than strictly necessary, I came back from the bar with two pints of San Miguel, telling Daddy that it wouldn't hurt for him to have just the one. Then, as I sat opposite him again, I wondered how on earth I could bring up the subject of Lionel.

Fortunately, Daddy beat me to it.

'I've driven past the house a few times since Saturday,' he said, 'and I've noticed a black Audi almost every time. I suspect it's her boss's motor. I suspect he's moved in.'

'Do you know the guy's name?' I hazarded.

'No, but according to Doreen he does drive a black Audi.'

I could have chuckled at the repeat mention of Doreen . . . if only my heart hadn't been breaking. Our family home was in a nice, exclusive part of town, you see. Unless you were visiting a neighbour you would not be in the area. In other words, driving past it once in a while would have been unlikely, but driving past it "a few times" wasn't on the cards; driving past it "a few times" was lottery-winning rare.

Daddy must have been driving past deliberately. His heart must have been breaking almost as badly as mine.

'Tell me,' I said, staring at him earnestly, 'do you honestly think Mother has been unfaithful?'

'Yes,' he replied. 'I think she's been shagging away from home for the last five years or more. I'm not happy to admit that, and I know I should have stood up to her. But that's what I think.'

I gripped his hand evermore tighter. 'Daddy, have you ever shagged away from home?'

He hesitated before answering. 'Once,' he said finally, 'about a year ago. It was someone I worked with. We were away on a course and we were both pretty low. All I can say is that one thing led to another . . . and that we're still friends.'

'So that was when Mother was already acting like a tramp?'

'Nat, please . . .'

'Excuse my French, but was it?'

'Yes,' he admitted woefully. 'I'd been suspecting her for a long time by then. Not that that's any sort of an excuse.'

'Oh yes it is,' I said angrily. 'She'd been giving you the cold shoulder and taking the piss for years. Of course you took the chance. Anyone would have. I only wish you'd had more than one night.'

'Who said I only had one night?'

'You just did.'

Daddy looked me in the eye. 'Okay, so that's correct. What do you know that I don't?'

'I know that some smooth toy boy called "Lionel" has moved in with Mother already. I just bet he's her new boss. And I bet he's not the first on her list, either. I bet she's been shagging around for yonks.'

'How do you know this Lionel has moved in?'

'I've met his frigging daughter. She's encamped in my bedroom, buggering up all my best scores on Super Mario 3. And he's encamped in your bedroom. I sneaked a look in the en suite and saw he'd left his shaving kit and a toothbrush.'

Daddy visibly shrank. 'Fast work indeed,' he muttered.

'How long has he been on the scene?'

'I dunno . . . maybe two or three months.'

'Okay, chew on this,' I said, on a furious roll. 'When I was in the third form we had a heating failure. It was snowing and the classrooms were freezing, so were all sent home early from school. Mother was coming down the stairs when I opened the front door. She was fully dressed but her hair was mussed and there was no sign of any immaculate makeup. She was very defensive, too. Then, while she was asking me what I was doing home . . . asking if I'd been expelled or just excluded. . . I heard the toilet flushing up in the bathroom.'

I paused for breath before hastening on. 'This bloke came down the stairs behind Mother. He was in a suit and she introduced him as some sort of "inspector".' I snorted. 'At the time I was too naïve to suss it, but I reckon he'd been inspecting her personal plumbing . . . there in your bed . . . just like Lionel is probably doing at this very moment.'

'Enough,' said Daddy. Then, frowning a little: 'You've kept this to yourself for . . . how long?'

'Too long,' I countered. 'I only realized what I'd really seen last night; when Mother implied everything was your fault. It all came back in a rush.'

'I see,' he said miserably.

Acting on impulse, I leant across the table and kissed Daddy on the lips. Not particularly passionately, understand. No, not passionately but not daughterly chaste, either.

'What was that for?' he wondered, smiling at me in a bemused sort of a way.

'It was because I love you,' I said. Then, using my eyes to indicate the two hungry females behind me, I added, 'And to wind them up as well.'

Daddy didn't spare them a passing glance. Swigging his beer, he let out his umpteenth sigh. 'What a mess.'

'It's a mess of Mother's making,' I countered, 'I've half a mind to go home and rip her head off.'

'Nat; she's your mother. That's not acceptable behaviour.'

'Compared to hers it'd make me a paragon of virtue.' I silently counted to ten before adding: 'Where are you living at the moment?'

'I'm in digs.' This time Daddy's laugh did have a trace of goodwill in it. 'Actually I've landed on my feet. Do you remember Cookie?'

'He's hardly forgettable.'

'Well I've got his apartment. He's been knocking . . . I mean he's been seeing this divorcee for quite a while. He's moved in with her so I can stay at his; told me not to hurry in finding anywhere else.'

I laughed out loud at that. Cookie was ordinary-looking but a real whizz at wheeler-dealing. His wallet alone would attract the most becoming divorcee. 'Where is this apartment?'

Daddy told me and I whistled. It was at the opposite end of town to our family home and in an even more well-to-do area. In that area the apartments were more like penthouses.

'Do I get to stay the night?' I enquired.

'I'm not sure that would be . . . er, appropriate.'

'Daddy, I'm your daughter for God's sake. And I've excommunicated Mother. If I never see her again it will be too soon. And no way am I sleeping in that house until she's out on her arse and you're back in. So tonight it's Cookie's place or a park bench for me.'

Even with his world crumbling about him, Daddy hadn't completely lost his sense of humour. 'What about the railway station,' said he, 'don't they have a better class of benches?'

'Maybe they do,' I grinned. 'But they lock those iron doors after the last train. And I wouldn't want to be left alone on a platform at the mercy of intercity serial killers, would I?'

'I don't think the serial killers would stand a chance against you,' he replied. 'But go on then; Cookie's it is.'

Chapter Five

Daddy may have controlled his drinking at the pub but, when we got to his quite adorable apartment, he hit the Glenmorangie big-time. Although he gave me plenty of opportunity to join him I declined. I have always liked single malts but, with half a dozen pints already inside me, I thought the odd glass of wine was the safer option.

And Daddy only had bottles of my favourite Chardonnay in his fridge! Two years seeing me hardly at all, no time to get a stock in between my call and his arrival at the pub . . . and still he had my tipple of preference waiting for me!!

What a superhero Daddy was!!

And what a wicked, scheming witch my mother could be.

Don't ask me how long we sat in Cookie's lounge, sipping whisky and wine. It was hours rather than minutes. And, believe it or not, I was the one who controlled her alcohol intake. Maybe I was secretly afraid that too much would send me hunting Mother and pervy Lionel, eager to extract revenge.

Or maybe I subconsciously had something else in mind.

Eventually, after a steady bottle of wine and a hasty bottle of finest Scotch, Daddy suggested that we turned in. Having limited myself to the vino, I was lightheaded but steady on my feet. Having pigged it on the hard stuff, Daddy was decidedly rocky. I took his arm and steered him to his bedroom door.

Then, not trusting him to navigate the five feet to the bed, I guided him inside.

'Sleep it off,' I advised, aware his eyelids were already shutting. 'And wake up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Your fridge only has wine in it. We're hitting Sainsbury's first thing in the morning. A major shop is the order of the day.'

Daddy snored in reply.

After having a pee I decided I was awake enough to explore Cookie's apartment. I also decided it was well worthy of being called a "penthouse". All on one floor, it consisted of two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen/dining room and a lounge. As I'd been in the lounge most of the evening I skipped that and had a good prowl in the kitchen.

Never mind the under-stocked fridge, that kitchen was to die for. Unless I was mistaken the units were Magnet's Cream Shaker range and there was no shortage of appliances: from a built-in dishwasher to a state-of the-art aga cooker, everything reeked of class.

Overcoming the temptation to try "one last glass of wine", I collected my backpack and headed for the spare bedroom . . . only to stop in my tracks outside the door to Daddy's room. The noise that I could hear wasn't snoring. No, it was sobbing.

Call me impetuous, but I couldn't bear to act like a priest or Levite and walk on. No, dumping my pack in the wide corridor, I opened the door and peeped inside.

By then it was late evening. Daddy hadn't turned the overhead light on but he had left the blinds open and I could see him in the fading twilight. He had stripped down to his boxers and was on his back on the bed, an arm flung over his eyes, as if stemming floods of tears.

My heart broke yet again at the sight of him. A lovely hunk of a man like that, broken and beaten by a self-centred, ungrateful cow!

(Yes, my esteem for Mother had never been high; right then it hit an all-time low. Given a popularity poll I'd have scored her below Hitler and Saddam . . . Judas would have left her in his scorch marks, breathing in his dust.)

Making my way over to the bed I softly shushed him, telling him everything would be okay. He kept his arm over his eyes but let up on the sobbing. I wasn't sure if he was toughing it out or listening to me.

'Come on,' I said, 'roll to your left.

He obeyed and I deftly tugged the duvet out from under him.

'Now roll to your right.'

He obeyed.

I even more deftly covered him with the duvet.

'Sleep,' I commanded.

*****

I paid another visit to the bathroom but my mind wouldn't settle. To me Daddy had always been the biggest, toughest man in the world. How could that bitchy cow have reduced him to this? Perhaps I should go out seeking vengeance after all.

Bladder successfully emptied, I used toilet paper to rub of my minimal lipstick then rinsed my face.

Not too ugly, I decided, grinning at my reflection. And sighing as my grin faded.

That self-centred, ungrateful cow who called herself "Mother" . . .

Back in the spare room I took of my jeans and top then hesitated. Could I hear more sobbing or was I imagining it? Sure my ears were not deceiving me; I hastily grabbed the thin black negligee from my backpack and pulled it on over my bra and panties.

Transparent black on black, I thought as I returned to Daddy's bedroom. And very sexy; I do hope he doesn't get the wrong idea.

Well . . . I do, don't I?

A picture slashed through my mind: those predatory women in the beer garden, drooling over my lovely Daddy, firing imaginary daggers into my back when I kissed him. Yes, I concluded, they'd had no idea that I was family. They'd assumed I was his plaything; that I would be athletically sharing his bed tonight while they brooded home alone.

If only I'd kissed him a second time! How green would their jealous eyes have been!!

By then it was almost fully dark. When I opened the door Daddy said, 'No, Blossom, not now.'

Ignoring him, I closed us in the room together and fumbled my way through the murk to his bed.

'No,' he repeated, more forcefully, 'this is not the place or the time.'

Still ignoring his objections, I got into bed beside him, huddling up close.

'I'm miserable too,' I half-lied, 'let's just cuddle our worries away.'

Daddy was noticeably keeping the lower half of his body at a distance. I even more noticeably pulled his face into my 34 double D tits and caught hold of his shoulders for good luck.

'Sob it all out,' I said as seductively as I could. 'I'm not ready to cry, but I really want to help you get rid.'

For perhaps a minute he froze, not exactly resisting but definitely not succumbing. Then he let out one mighty sob and gave in.

If only I could have whooped in victory!

I didn't, of course. Instead, being the dutiful daughter, I ran my fingers through his shortly-cut hair and made a lot more hushing, shushing sounds.

'I love you Daddy,' I crooned. 'Just let it all out. I'll cuddle you forever if that's what it takes.'

'Lotus Blossom,' he wept, 'this is all so wrong.'

'You've comforted me from the wicked witch millions of times,' I responded, fingers still busy in those so-very-sexy curls. 'Now it's my turn. Let it all out. Please . . . let it all out.'

I could feel his hot tears on my flimsy negligee, soaking through onto the skin above my heaving, bra-covered breasts. And, despite his best lower body efforts, I could feel his hardness throbbing against my bare thigh. Excitement flooded my veins but some womanly instinct stopped me from overplaying my hand.

'Let it all out,' I reiterated. 'It's me, Blossom, and I love you. Please let me make everything all right.'

Within five minutes he was snoring in my arms.

Chapter Six

Daddy didn't actually snore. No, instead he made a tuneful, harmonious sort of a noise that was very pleasing on the ear. Listening to it first relaxed me then swiftly sent me off to the same slumberland.

But I didn't slumber forever. It must have been two or three in the morning when I came awake, not in the least suffering from the effects of alcohol and instantly aware of where I was.

(If this was a story of yore I would now claim that the Devil invaded my head; that I did things I would never have otherwise done. Or, more modernly, I might attempt to justify my actions by saying I was still drunk and that, if any blame attached to resultant events, it was "society's fault", not mine. But I'm not that sort of wriggling wretch, so I'll simply report what happened.)

For perhaps half an hour I watched him sleep as best I could in the iffy light. And I sincerely got into those harmonious snores. Maybe I even got attuned in a hippy-like sort of a way.

Whatever it was, I certainly caught on when his dreams shifted course.

Okay, so his mumbling helped. Out of nowhere he kept repeating a name. Now, I'm not going to make out it was any of the names he used for me. And it certainly wasn't Mother's name. Best I could come up with was that mystery woman he'd copped off with a year earlier; his one and only shag away from home.

(I know I just said that I wouldn't try to justify myself, but stick this in your pipe and smoke it: it seemed obvious that Mother had frozen Daddy out of her bedroom for some considerable time. It followed that Daddy's one and only lapse . . . over twelve months ago . . . had been the last time he'd had anything remotely approaching "marital rights". Meanwhile, over a period of several years, darling Mother had been shagging anything with a cock. How unfair was that!!)

So Daddy's dream was understandably getting hot. I knew the feeling well. Whenever I went without a few days my dreams soon got hot . . . not to mention wet. Wanting him to have a happy ending, ready to assist if needed, I planted my right hand on his leg.

'Oh,' he murmured, repeating that unfamiliar name. 'Oh yes . . .'

Moving of its own accord now, my hand landed on his boxers. Daddy was perhaps halfway up when it got there but hard as steel not two seconds later.

'Oh,' he gasped, 'oh yes . . .'

Not deterred by the sweet miasma of Glenmorangie on his breath, forgetting I'd meant to wait and see if I was needed, I burrowed deep into his boxers. Let's just say that I'd done that sort of thing a couple of times before. And let's also say that I'd never, ever encountered anything like the treasure I found within.

My previous male lovers had all been in the range of eighteen to twenty-one: suddenly I was feeling a real, full-blooded man.

Yes, even pissed out of his skull he was still bigger by far . . . not to mention harder by far.

Marvelling at the size and shape, I began to slowly masturbate him. Daddy responded by murmuring all the more and regularly uttering that unfamiliar name. By then I didn't really care. Ideally he would have been murmuring "Nat" or "Lotus Blossom" . . . or at a push "Doreen". That unfamiliar name was okay, though. It was a zillion times better than Mother's.

'Come on,' I whispered seductively, 'cum for me.'

I honestly never will know exactly when Daddy came out of his semi-sodden stupor. As we haven't as yet discussed it, I tend to doubt I ever will. All I do know is that he seemed to let my attentions merge with his dreams and, after repeatedly bucking his hips upwards, climaxed quite violently.

And only then did he admit to be being awake.

'Blossom,' he whispered. 'What . . .

I had strategically withdrawn my hand at the first hot splash of semen. Lying on my back beside him, the very picture of innocence, I shushed him once more.

'Looks like you just had a nice dream,' I said. 'Make sure that I'm in the next one . . .'

*****

The next time I woke the sun was up and birds were singing outside. Daddy was still asleep (again!) and I felt a mighty rush of affection for him. Poor Daddy! Betrayed and booted out of the house he had mostly paid for himself.

Poor Daddy who not so many hours ago had cum thanks to my helping hand

Poor Daddy whose cock would have put a stud horse to shame!!

I did not at that moment harbour any guilt at all. If anything, I was feeling victorious. Mother had done the dirty on Daddy and I'd done my bit to get him over her. And I was eager to do a bit more, come to that. My fingers were itching to hold him again.

It's not really sex, I told myself as I (rather clumsily) removed my bra from under my negligee. Daddy is a man who desperately needs physical release. And I am a woman who desperately wants to cheer him up.

My clumsy movements must have woken him.

'Blossom,' he said, 'so it wasn't a dream.'