The Games Some Daughters Will Play

by Lisa Smiles

  “Hmm, hmmm, Kylie, you’re so goddam delicious,” he murmured.

  “You’re pretty good too.”

  He gazed into her lightly done eyes. “Oh gosh,” he said, then dived back on in. There was chemistry there. The idea seemed absurd, of her and him gelling.

  “Alright, that’s a rabbit hole we’re going to fall into if we don’t break it up.”

  “Rabbit hole?” she asked puzzled. The pet word in their household for a vagina was bunny hole.

  He hastened to correct any assumptions. “Like Alice in Wonderland. There’s a line when it stops being a game. So it’s good we didn’t cross it—you cutie.”

  He dropped her at school and watched her bounce off to join her upper class friends. Seeing she was plainly the best of the best gave Ben a strange satisfaction. It was his finger massaging that one’s bunny hole less than a half hour beforehand.

  He knew he had to go further. She had the best legs and butt of any of those girls. Quite a few were too hefty. They had overworked parents who feed them all crap. Ben’s girls had a home husband in charge of planned meals. He was responsible for creating the healthiest specimen in one of the city’s most privileged schools. He deserved the first fruits of his labors.

  Cars were honking.

  “What’s up? Oh shit, sorry!”

  He had been stopped in the quick drop-off zone. He had an erection in front of a school. His life was in a kind of a slide.

  There was a spot under the stage of the school hall where Kylie could wag her first class and browse the web on her phone. She went straight to her thread.

  I must say, you both know a lot about incest. I’m typing at school so I’ll have to be brief. I did the horsey ride thing with no underpants. I felt a bit in over my head because where my feet had to go meant I was pressing them on my father’s dick. And it got very hard. And my bits were skin to skin on his back and I know I left slime there. So then this morning, I tried wrestling with my sister and we did the tag team thing where he took her place. When she was out of the room he said he was going to show me what finger-wrestling is. It’s apparently a game from when he was younger. Basically, it meant him fingering me at the same time as we played catch-n-kiss. He broke it off and said there’s a line when it all stops being a game. He says we haven’t crossed that, which is is awesome. So what I’m asking, I guess, is if anyone knows some more games?

  At lunch time she sat on the toilet and checked her thread there. There was just one reply.

  Try putting on a play with your sister. Or a talent competition. Then when your sister’s in bed tell him you want to give him a fashion parade. It’s pretty simple. You just wear less and less each time you come out. His eyes burning into your body will be at least as exciting as him putting his finger in your vagina.

  When Ben set the dinner table he made a point of putting Kylie’s plate in front of her mom’s regular chair.

  “Can you pass my plate down?” Kylie asked.

  “I want to make you the lady of the house while your mom is away.”

  Kylie looked two inches taller as she walked around the table to take the prime spot.

  Natalie said, “Daddy, Kylie and me are going to do a play for you after dinner. We’ve been planning it. So you have to make time to watch.”

  Ben finished packing the dishwasher and went to see what they had done to the living room. They had the mic stand, kids sized plastic prop furniture and the flute neither of them had learned to play. Sweet though was the bowl of Doritos and six pack of beer set especially for him by the sofa.

  “I won’t drink that much you sillies!”

  “We want you to enjoy yourself,” Kylie said. “Mom’s away and it’s always about what she wants. So we’ve got it all planned so it’s all about you.”

  It was hard to imagine how amateurish performances scripted since they got home from school would be better than a night in his room just looking at porn, but it was his best beer they had brought from his man cave and he had a front row seat on his forbidden obsession.

  They started with piss-poor dances “choreographed” to songs by Nirvana, the only band they knew he enjoyed. Kurt Cobain would roll in his grave. Then came the readings from On The Road. Blasphemy!

  After three beers he made himself a part of the act by gazing at Kylie to see when she’d blush. When she did, she said, “I’m hot, I’ve got to go and get changed.” She came back minus the jeans in her much cooler nightie.

  The play was atrocious and a ventriloquist would mine pop songs with more expression. But none of that mattered with Kylie’s little funyums giggling inside of that nightie.

  Finally nine o’clock came around and Ben could say it was Natalie’s bed time and that he would look forward to next year’s royal gala amusements.

  When Ben had been reading Natalie her story he had assumed Kylie would be retiring with a cucumber, not putting on the late evening makeup and erotic attire that she was wearing when he returned. She had slunk into the jumpsuit he’d once bought her so she could go trick-or-treating as Cat Woman from the movie Dark Night. She still had the mask, the boots, the ears—the whole costume. She must have worn something under it for Halloween though because this time the outline of her box flaps and puffies were unbearably clear. She held one of his beers in her hand, three quarters empty.

  “What, there’s another performance?” he asked.

  “The mature audiences part,” she said and scratched the air with a hiss. “Sit down. I’ve memorized the whole fight scene.”

  It began with a minute of high kicks, cartwheels and punches.

  “Say ‘No Killing’,” she told him.

  Ben said, “No Killing.”

  “How boring!”

  It seemed she knew the whole movie by heart.

  “What’s this bit?” he asked when she climbed on the arm of the sofa beside him.

  “It’s where I jump from the roof,” and she theatrically stepped cautiously and sat close beside him. Her painted lips came right to his face. “My mother told me never to get into cars with strange men,” she said breathily, then stood to take her applause.

  “Bravo! Kylie, that was amazing!”

  “Oh thank you! Can I have some more beer for my courage?”

  “Sure. Why courage?”

  “My next act comes with a nudity warning.”

  Her hands were fumbling badly with the bottle and opener.

  “Kylie,” Ben said, taking the beer to do the job for her. “You can relax without getting drunk. Look, it’s just me. Your boring old father.”

  “I’m going to make a fool out of myself aren’t I?” Out came the bottom lip and she looked ready to sob.

  “Not at all. If this night’s for me, as you say, then female nudity has to be on the menu, somehow. It’s probably the only thing in the world that I find amusing.” It was his own nervousness on display now.

  “If you laugh I’ll never forgive you.”

  He clasped her trembling hands to steady his own and kissed his girl on the forehead. Everything about this was wrong. His erection. His burning desire to see her disrobed. But there was a thread there that might just hold all the weight, and that was the idea that nothing was real. It was just a performance or game. “Kylie, I’m with you. And home is a smart place to explore aspects of your sexuality where you can’t get embarrassed.”

  He hadn’t kissed her full on the lips since that morning and would have done so right then, if there was some way to say that was game.

  “I don’t know what you can possibly go and get changed into that’s sexier than you as cat woman, but kid, you’ve got me as horny as hell and I want to find out.”

  She immerged in white heels, white stockings and matching diaphanous panties with pubes showing over the gusset. The star though was the white feather boa she had recently bought for a Great Gatsby party. It was the only thing that covered her chest.

  Ben had decided while she was changing to behave as he would in a strip

club. He didn’t go to those places to talk to the girls. He went there to stare—to be a creep. That was the kind of daddy his baby said she was here to amuse. He couldn’t be somebody else.

  She set the TV to play “Bang Bang” from The Great Gatsby soundtrack. With her back to Ben and her face to the screen she tried to learn the moves on the spot, happily shuffling a half beat behind.

  Ben had seen strippers in their twenties with figures as tight, and strippers as young as 18, but had never seen youth and fitness in the same person. Her musculature and waist line didn’t come from the gym or pole dancing. It was from good breeding and posh school activities like horse riding and skiing.

  It was the feebleness though that was driving him crazy. What was it with strippers that they thought men would want them to look powerful and in control?

  She had found her rhythm, if not the right dance steps and was daring to let the boa away from her breasts. Leaning sideways for a view of more side boob would be like scrutinizing a learner magician, so he stayed where he was. All he did, and there was no way he could help this, was slide lower down on the sofa. Contracting his ass and raising his hips was rubbing the tip of his rod against the inside of his trousers.

  The song ended and she turned to face him, the boa held tight to her chest.

  “I’m sorry, I bet that wasn’t sexy at all.”

  “I don’t know about sexy, but it was fucking arousing.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m going out of my mind.”

  “Really?”

  “I don’t know what we’re going to do now though.” If he gave her an easy out she would go put on some clothes. “Do you want to sit with me for bit?”

  “What for?”

  Of course she would ask that. A know-it-all teenager can’t sit with her old foggy dad unless there’s a reason. Ben had to think fast. Then he realized: this was an evening of entertainment while mom was away. He had to keep playing that line.

  “Oh I don’t know,” he said. “In those strip clubs the girls sit with the men between songs. They get money for selling them overpriced drinks.”

  “Okay.”

  He reached out his arm and she slid close beside him. Though she was sheathing herself with her feathers there was still a lot of skin to admire. He held her tight to keep her face close.

  “Now you’ve got to be over-the-top flirty,” he told her.

  “Oh hi there, I’m Kylie,” she said with a pat.

  “Hi Kylie, I’m Ben.” He began slowing stroking her arm.

  “Have you been enjoying the evening?” she asked, running her nails down the stubble that grew on his neck.

  “Well the G-rated stuff wasn’t really my thing. But your dance just then was amazing.”

  “Oh thank e-yew. You’re a big sweetie then aren’t you!” She planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “So are you Kylie. Do you mind?” He was pulling her boa, slowly, without objection, over her shoulder. He ground his teeth in defiance, knowing he was joining less than one percent of all man who receive justice. Most never see a breast their sperm has created.

  There are things every pervert looks for in a teen gland. An upward inclination of a puffy dime sized areola. Faint hairs she might think are abnormal so is frightened to have anyone see. No actual teats. She had all these, however, there are also breasts that shock a man with the sense that these are the first naked breasts he has seen in his life. She had those breasts as well.

  The peach colored areola on her left side had one brail dot—by her twenties she might have a crop. It was her right areola though that transfixed him. It was a dainty volcano. What passed for her teat was a tiny raised ring with a crater. Ben realized the striations of her curious lips were mere hints. Her entire body was rich in attractions.

  “Tell me,” he said, “is there any way a customer might get to make out with one of the dancers? I would be more than happy to pay.”

  “Pay? No! Not someone handsome like you! Who’s caught your eye?”

  “Well, you have. I perhaps shouldn’t say, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we were playing last night. I could feel you weren’t wearing anything under your nightie.”

  “I wish you had said. You’ve embarrassed me now.”

  Her face was so expressive, painted and close and Ben was just space junk sucked into its orbit.

  “I’m the one who should be embarrassed. I’m turning into a stalker. I’m thinking about you so much I wouldn’t care if I lost everything.”

  “You don’t have to lose anything Daddy. We can do things. We just have to make them all part of a game.”

  “That would be my absolute dream.”

  “I’d like it too.”

  “So this is the game where I’ve gone to a strip club and the girl there has agreed to make out?”

  “I guess that’s very unprofessional of me, but then I am only new,” she said wide eyed with her pinkie finger raised to her lips.

  At the risk of losing his load prematurely Ben moved his head into position to kiss her. “Come here then new girl.”

  It was certainly nicer kissing her half naked on a soft sofa than in her starchy school uniform on the hard floor. He undid his belt and guided her hand to his zip to undo it. He ventured then to fondle her breasts.

  She was pulling on the zip, but unsure where to stop. “Go on,” he said. “There’s no one around.”

  He found she enjoyed sucking kisses, with lips sealing and releasing but with mouths an inch open. The only air he was wanting was air coming out of her lungs. He had to have it all. But for their protection it all had to be role play.

  “What’s the game called,” he whispered, “where you sleep in mom’s bed and you and I pretend we are married?”

  “Don’t be silly. You know it. ‘Mothers and fathers’.”

  “That’s what we used to call it as well. Do they still pretend the mother and father are making a baby?”

  “No, but we can play it that way if you like.”

  She was gangly and limp in his arms and almost too light. But for the narrowness of her waist, she wouldn’t have had hips and her limbs and her neck belonged to a doll. If he looked too much he would balk at the prospect. But he couldn’t do that. She would be offended to be dumped from her role as the mother.

  He placed her on her feet, then, kneeling behind her, lowered her panties. He helped her step through in her mother’s high heels. His eyes followed her stockings to where they stopped on her thighs. You could kick a football between them. The smallest of her womanly contours were completely on show.

  He would have to fuck this one with the light on, on top of the covers, in front of the wardrobe door mirrors. There should be no running from the fact that such an underweight specimen, under his body, would present an aberrant spectacle to any observer.

  He picked her back up in his arms. “Can I have a really close look at your baby bits, mommy?”

  “If I can look at your daddy bits, sure.”

  He kissed her on the eye for her cute answer and said, “I’ll have to lay you this way in that case. Hold your top leg up for me Kylie.”

  She had never been near her pubes with a razor, and might never need to, being naturally and virtually hairless. He should have known by her legs. No matter how long she went without shaving neither ever showed more than and handful of hairs and even then they were so faint that it was only in certain light you could see them.

  Her hole looked as tight as it had felt on his finger that morning. And there he was accusing her of not eating those cucumbers! She would struggle inserting a bean.

  From grating fresh truffle to full bodied wines, Ben had a thing for high class aromas. It was natural then for him to bury his nose in her folds. He breathed all the way out then deeply drew back on pure private schoolgirl. Meanwhile he could feel her exploring the head of his penis. He had to turn around to have a good look at this.

  Few sights compare to a young face when she’s giving you head. A cad would let go in her mouth. Maybe he was such a cad, but there were too many positions yet to enjoy.

  With his legs together he took her under her armpits and dragged her vagina over his thighs, onto his shaft then slowly, slo-o-owly along it. He brought her to rest where the bundles of nerves in each of their organs would be as one bundle. With her weight in his hands he held her with her back arched and those inexorable breasts where he could best see them.

  “You’re utterly lovely you know.”

  “You’re beautiful too.”

  Each of their hips were pulsating, like heart muscles compelled to serve life without their minds knowing.

  “Don’t forget, if we’re being like this, you still should spend time with your sister.”

  “I know.”

  “And you know about telling your mother.”

  Of course she knew about telling her mother! The woman earned half a million a year. Everything depended on keeping her happy. Both Ben, and Kylie, would lose so many comforts if the status quo were impacted. Those now included the comfort they could receive from each other.

  The first inch is the hardest and they were already there.

  “Are you a virgin?”

  “Ahu.”

  “I thought I could feel something. If you focus your mind on the kissing, and try not to think about what’s happening down there, you might not even feel it when I go through.”

  That was just his hunch. Ben had never had the honor of an actual virgin. Ones he had known in his youth had frightened him off with the sense they would become too attached and demanding. That would never have been a problem if they were like Kylie. She could cling all she liked. She clung to him anyway. He clung to her. They were father and daughter. They clung. Incestuous relations might only last for a while. Their familial bond was forever.

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