Vignette - Blue Valentines

My God! Why is he doing this?

The touching seemed so harmless when it began. Feathery strokes floated up and down my bare arm, just shy of tickling. I shivered when his fingertips raised delicious goosebumps. I smiled at him, and he smiled back, giving me a funny look.

Soon I understood why.

It wasn't a typical Friday night. I would have been on my usual date with Justin, but he had something special planned for tomorrow night. Valentine's Day. He hadn't told me yet, but he'd hinted at a hotel room. All night long. Just me and him. No more cramped back seats. No more quickies while his Mom ran to the store. The very idea got me hot.

I hoped he remembered to bring flowers.

Watching the strange movie next to Dad, my imagination drifted to all the things I was going to do with my boyfriend when I got him alone. I hardly noticed when Dad's hand combed through my hair. I remember closing my eyes, imagining it was Justin's hand. I may have moaned.

In retrospect, I guess I might have led my Dad on a little. I was usually out on a date most Friday nights, so he might have gotten the wrong idea about why I was at home. We played around while he made the spaghetti that he knew I liked. Maybe our horseplay was a little too rambunctious. Ever since I was a little girl, we'd always wrestled and teased each other. He always let me win.

We had emptied half a bottle of Chianti with dinner. By the time we'd cleaned the kitchen, bantering back and forth and sipping the rest of the bottle, I was feeling pretty good. Side by side at the sink, we had bumped and shoved each other like we often did. At one point, he even slapped my butt. I squealed and yelled at him to stop. But I was laughing. I vaguely remember tormenting him, half-hoping he would do it again. Not that I ever thought it would go anywhere.

At least, I didn't think so then.

When we plopped on the sofa, I let Dad pick out a movie. I was tired. Tired, but tipsy. And a little aroused. I decided I would watch half the movie, feign sleepiness, then kiss him goodnight. Then I'd go upstairs to take care of my little itch. Maybe I'd call Justin for phone sex. I couldn't wait to see what he had planned for tomorrow night. He'd better have some flowers for me. I like flowers.

Figuring Dad would grab one of those old westerns he always watches, I thought it was odd when "Blue Valentine" came on the screen.

"This was one of your mom's favorites," he said, a tinge of sadness in his voice as always.

I'd seen it among our videos, but the liner notes hadn't sounded interesting. Mom had never watched it with me.

"Is it a romantic comedy?" I asked hopefully.

Dad's arm was draped across the back of the sofa. I shivered when the feathery strokes from his fingertips raised delicious goosebumps on my arm. I smiled at him, and he smiled back, giving me a funny look.

Soon I understood why.

Their family was just like ours used to be. A pretty and happy little girl. A fun-loving, doting father. A caring, get-things-done mother. Little by little, their perfect world began to fall apart. It started with the disappearance of the girl's little dog. My eyes grew blurry when the parents hid the dog's fate from their daughter. That's probably what happened to my dog, Candy.

Dad's thumb and fingers began pinching firmly along my shoulder around the narrow straps.

"Mmm... That feels good," I said dreamily, distracted from the movie for a minute

My attention was jerked back when the wife in the movie begged her husband to rape her. No one had ever attacked me like that. I couldn't imagine actually wanting one of my boyfriends to force himself on me. I laughed inside. More like me forcing myself on them.

A short while later, the brutal scene with the wife's old boyfriend made me re-think the whole 'rape' thing. A pit of desire formed deep in my belly as I watched her struggle against him. Why was my pussy tingling like that, oozing into my panties? I desperately wanted to run upstairs, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the rough way he fucked her. This was supposed to be a Valentine's movie?

Dad's hand crept to my nape, kneading those tired neck muscles. My head drooped a little, so I could still watch the strange video while giving his warm fingers better access.

"Whatever you do, don't stop, Dad."

Maybe that wasn't the best thing I could have said.

"Why don't you stretch out, Mel?" he suggested. "I'll give you a good rub down."

I gladly laid out on the sofa, hands crossed under my head. Sitting on the edge, he pressed the heel of both palms along each side of my lower spine and ground them deeply into the muscles, all the way up to my neck.

"Fuck," I sighed before I realized what I'd said. I waited, expecting another slap on the behind, a cautioning word, anything. It never came.

Gradually the dysfunctional family in the movie crumbled, sort of like ours had, but different. The father's love for his daughter was undeniable, just like Dad's. But life was not all rainbows and unicorns. Sometimes, love was not enough. I was old enough to understand that now. Relationships changed. New experiences made us stronger and wiser. People grew old and died. Sometimes they didn't even have to grow old first.

My father's fingers were magical. Justin had given me backrubs. Dad massaged my soul. I could feel all my tensions and anxieties flowing out of my body with every pleasured breath. He kneaded and worked those big fingers of his into my tendons and muscles. Then he would back off, caressing the bare skin of my back with light...

Wait a minute. Bare skin? When did his hands get under my top?

I wasn't complaining, though. It felt heavenly. I had to wonder if he had ever done this for Mom. I thought about her. They had loved each other so much. It had been nearly two years.

My mother had been a confident, hardworking woman, always there when she was needed. I missed her warmth and tenderness. I hoped that someday I might grow to be a woman like her.

Since she'd gone, my Dad had strived to give me love and laughter every day, filling in the gap she left behind. I couldn't imagine how hard it had been for him without her. In a few years, I would finish my degree and probably move away. I kept wishing he would find someone to fill in the gap for him. As far as I knew, he hadn't even looked at another woman.

Except I still didn't understand why Dad said this was her favorite movie. Did my Mom keep her own dark secrets, like the lady on the screen?

At the bittersweet ending, the mother kept the daughter, but I knew the little girl's father would never be far away. Just like I had this sense that my mother was never far away from me.

Dad's big hands kept massaging my back after he turned the TV off. My mellowed musings turned to Justin. My boyfriend's hands weren't nearly as big as Dad's, and they weren't as delightfully calloused and scratchy. He was always so gentle with me. Maybe a little too gentle. Could he ever work me over like this? I began imagining it was Justin roughly grinding his hands into my body, arousing my desire in preparation for our glorious night of sin tomorrow.

Then my bra came loose. Oh, gosh, I giggled to myself. When did Justin finally figure out how the catch works?

But then I realized it wasn't Justin. What was going on? Dad didn't say a thing. He just kept the blissful feelings rolling over me. I figured the bra strap must have been in the way. Yeah, that was it.

Dad pushed my cotton top halfway up my back. I assumed it was too tight, making it hard for him to get his hands far enough up my spine. Using only the pressure of his thumbs, he dug in around my shoulder blades, and that felt awesome. Then I noticed his hands were wrapped around my sides. His fingers were straying so close to my...

What? His fingers touched the side of my breasts. My father's fingers. Maybe he didn't recognize where they were, but the fingertips seemed to be caressing the fleshy sides, back and forth as he pressed into my back. And I wished to God they wouldn't do that, because those fingers were making me feel things I shouldn't be feeling from my Dad touching me.

Turning my head up, I was just about to say something when he suddenly withdrew completely. I exhaled a half-disappointed groan.

"Thanks, Dad," I said sleepily. "That was amazing. I feel so much -- huh?"

I felt Dad lift the back of my skirt off my legs. Then his huge, powerful hands were squeezing and massaging my butt through my bikinis. Sure, he'd patted me there a few times, even playfully slapped it tonight. But despite how good he was making me feel -- or perhaps because of it -- I wasn't sure he shouldn't be doing this.

"Dad?" I twisted my head back, barely able to see him from the corner of my eye.

"Yes, honey?" he said innocently, clasping each cheek with his fingers and kneading them like they were made of dough. Mmm...nice.

"Uh, is -- is this okay, Dad?"

"Sure, honey. Doesn't this feel great?"

I couldn't lie to him. "Yeah, Dad. Really good. But..."

"Just relax, Mel," he said in that tone he used when I got too stressed. "Close your eyes and enjoy yourself."

Maybe he was right. Maybe I was reading too much into this. I mean, he was my Dad, right? I forced myself to loosen up, and closed my eyes. As bizarre as the situation was, I was definitely enjoying the massage. In fact, I was enjoying it a little too much. My pussy was getting hungry. When he was done, I would definitely have to call Justin. Maybe we could meet up someplace tonight. Even his back seat would be fine.

Basking in the soothing, yet undeniably provocative squeezing and cuddling of my ass by Dad's talented hands, I drifted off into a naughty reverie. Justin was kissing me. Both our hands were wandering, teasing each other. He was caressing my inner thighs. He knew how much that turned me on. But his touch had never felt so good. Little by little, he came closer, closer, until his fingers were nuzzling my lower lips, drawing soft lines along the edge of my...

"Fuck!" I screamed, flipping over and gaping up at Dad. It wasn't a dream. my father was fondling my pussy! "Dad?" I asked, summing all my questions into that one word.

Kneeling at the foot of the sofa, he smiled softly. Then he simply laid down. Next to me. He stretched out, his arm lying over my waist, his penetrating eyes gazing at me with a look I'd seen on so many guys. But never on him.

"Dad? What's going on?"

Playing with the hair on the side of my head, he said, "You're so incredibly beautiful, Mel," as if that would explain everything. Adoration was in in his voice.

But in those fiery eyes I saw what was coming even before he moved. I couldn't believe he would. Then it happened. He kissed me. On the lips. It was barely a quick smooch, but it was so surprising, I didn't know what to do. So I kept staring at him, bewildered.

Maybe things would have been different if only I had gathered my wits a little quicker.

Dad kissed me again. Except this time, it wasn't just a kiss. His lips possessed me. They were demanding, firm, and yet soft, wet and sucking. The passion in his kiss overwhelmed my senses. I'd never experienced anything so intense, so consuming.

So what did I do? While my addled brain fumbled desperately with the deluge of contradictions pouring in, my lips were in familiar territory. They knew exactly what to do. They kissed him back. Not only that, they opened to him.

My father's thick tongue rushed in, ravishing me. He assaulted my mouth. One hand held the back of my head while his tongue forcing its way in again and again. Hot, aroused breaths blazed from his nostrils, warming my cheek.

He tasted like me.

I was still stymied. All the rules had been broken, and I no longer knew how I was supposed to act. The thought of kissing my Dad like this was so freakishly weird. At the same time, I didn't want to complain. He'd had it rough the last few years. And then there was the other thing.

I sorta' liked it.

It wasn't that I had a thing for my Dad. I mean, I loved him to death, and we goofed around a lot, physical stuff like we'd done tonight. But I'd never thought of him as a guy. He was my Dad, you know?

But none of the boys I'd dated had ever been so aggressive, so self-assured. The insistence in my Dad's expressive kisses left me feeling weak and helpless. I was embarrassed at how my insides seemed to be melting and leaking out between my pussy lips. Why had no other kiss made me feel this way?

So long as that was all he wanted, I figured I could go along for a while. I just lay there, trying to keep my own rampant libido in check. He would quit soon, we'd laugh about it, and that would be all there was. I promised myself I wouldn't encourage him.

Apparently, he didn't need much encouragement.

I hadn't been paying attention to anything but his amazing lips. Too late, I realized his hand was between my legs, stroking my pussy through my damp panties. Clamping my thighs together, I squealed into his mouth and tried to shove him away, but I was trapped. His powerful arms were too much for me.

That's when his fingers started working their magic again. My clit was already at attention from his erotic massage and the intensity of his kiss. I shuddered as his fingertip circled the tender, swollen nub, over and over. Up one side and down the other, then around and around the top. He did it again. And again.

I couldn't contain the whimper.

As if his hand were double-jointed, somehow he kept up the light, steady nuzzling on my clit while his other fingers managed to tug my panties to the side. They stroked my pussy lips, gradually coaxing them apart. Then his big finger, that wonderful finger -- the one that had wiped the tears from my cheek when I came home crying after losing my virginity -- his fat finger twisted itself up inside my slickness.

Oh, my God.

My legs opened as my Dad fucked me slowly with his exquisite finger. Brushing my clit a little faster, increasing the pressure, he stirred the embers of my lust. Despite my resolve, my hips acquired a life of their own, gyrating and pushing against his hand.

When he reached up inside to that sweet spot, the one that Justin hadn't found yet, I knew I was done for. I began to shake, moaning strenuously into my father's mouth, my fingers clawing at his back. His lips dropped to suck lightly at my oh-so-sensitive neck as his other hand pulled back to cover my breast, squeezing and massaging with his magical fingers.

I lost it.

With a deep, inward rush of air, I whispered, "Fuck!". My body went rigid, every tendon, every muscle caught up in the rapture, my body bathed in the sweet, blissful rush of sexual delirium.

Slowly, I settled back into the realm of consciousness. I don't think I'd ever felt so satisfied. Dad's delightful finger was still making soft, squishy noises in my pussy. I felt all gooey inside. What I really needed was something that a girl should never get from her father. Even if he'd just given her one of the best orgasms of her life. Besides, Dad wouldn't go that far, would he?

That's when I realize that he's pushing his slacks down.

My God! Why is he doing this?

"Dad?" I ask plaintively. "What are you doing?" It's a silly question. I feel the heat of his hard cock pressing against my leg.

Ignoring me, he says, "Lift up." His thumbs are curled into the waistband of my bikinis.

As stunned as I am, I obey, confused about what has come over my decent, loving father to make him act this way.

As he wiggles my panties down my thighs, I ask, "Why are you doing this, Dad?"

"You're so beautiful," is his impassioned, though enigmatic, answer.

What does that mean? It doesn't make any more sense than anything else that has happened tonight. Has he gone crazy? What would he do if I said 'no'? Could he hurt me? Staring up at him, I try to remain cool and unemotional. This is so wrong.

Using his foot, Dad pushes my panties all the way down, and off my feet. When he tries to wedge my legs open with his hand and knee, I respond with a little resistance. I don't want him to think I'm okay with this. He gives a low growl that stirs something primal in me, and forces them apart anyway. Moving into position, he lines up and shoves.

My father's cock pries open my slippery entrance, and I take a sharp inward breath. I'm trying to remind myself that I shouldn't be enjoying this. As it reaches deeper and deeper, that thought becomes harder to remember. The head feels so big. I've never had sex without a condom. Justin fills me nicely. With Dad, it's like I can feel him stretching my pussy all the way up to my navel. When our pubes meet, a tiny moan escapes me. He is a perfect fit.

He lowers himself, trapping me with most of his weight on my body. Despite the heaviness, it's strangely warm and comforting. Is this what he did with Mom?

Inspired by the movie, I wriggle underneath him, as though trying to escape. Half-heartedly, I shove at his shoulders, trying to push him off me. He growls again, snatches both my hands and raises them over my head. With one big paw, he pins both wrists to the sofa.

I've never felt so helpless. So weak. So utterly exhilarated.

With one hand squeezing my boob, he starts sawing his cock in and out, slowly. That marvelous, wide head rakes the walls of my kitty. I'm finding it hard to focus on anything else.

"You're so beautiful," he says, staring into my eyes.

I don't know what to say. I'm not sure whether he would quit if I begged him to stop, or if that would just spur him on. I'm no longer sure which one I want.

His fucking is slow and steady. None of the urgency of the boys I've been with.

Combing his fingers through my hair, he scans my face, as though seeing every feature for the first time. Again he sighs reverently, "So beautiful."

While the broad brim of his cock awakens hidden nerve endings deep in my sheath, his powerful hand compresses my breast in time with the rhythm of his fucking. Two fingers find my little tit, twirling and pinching it harshly. My self-control is slipping away.

Gazing down at me, he says quietly, "I look at you." His breaths are growing quicker, like mine. "Those clothes you wear. So much lovely skin. So perfect."

His tempo has picked up. The repetitive crash of his pubis against my bottom sets off alarms that I've never gotten just from fucking. A slight upward tilt of my hips centers him right where I need it. Oh, God. Yes...

Between increasingly agitated breaths, Dad says, "I touch you. Every day. You don't know. What it does to me. So beautiful. Your scent. It -- it's all around me." His voice sounds helpless. Despite the fury of his assault, he looks so sad. Water begins to well in his eyes. "It -- it's so hard. So hard. I need you so much."

His eyes close. With frenzied thrusts he slams his cock relentlessly into my pussy, crushing my poor breast painfully and muttering a desperate mantra with each brutal lunge, "I need you. I need you. I need you..."

I'm startled by the sudden blissful wave that rolls over me. Rapturous swells surge up through my body with each hammering blow of his cock. I quiver, every muscle strained to the limit. My arms struggle in vain against his strength, and it's marvelous.

Then it's Dad who is flying over the edge. "Oh!" he exclaims, ramming himself deep once, then "Oh!", again. Throwing his head back, he emits a deep, agonized groan.

A warm, creamy bloom fills my belly, stirring a completely different sort of orgasm, soft and sensual. Chills race across my skin, and I am filled with a sense of completeness that no boy has ever given me.

My father's eyes open. He looks down at me. He's horrified, tears streaming down his face. The shock of what he's done finally hits home.