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Sighing, Simon tosses his keys onto the table beside the door, beyond grateful to finally be home. It’s been an intolerably long day, filled with other people’s screw-ups that he had to fix, and by the time he’d shut the door to his car to leave the office, he’d been at the end of his rope and about ten seconds away from ripping someone’s throat out with his teeth.
He runs a hand over his face, dragging it down and scratching at his stubble before he makes his way into the kitchen for a snack. It’s a few hours before dinner, so he can rest easy about spoiling his supper. He’s not sure he’d care even if it did spoil his dinner.
Simon pulls a beer from the fridge and stares blankly at it for a moment. It’s only three in the afternoon, does he really want alcohol already? Shaking his head, he puts it back and turns to the cabinet to his right.
Inside lay a rich amber bottle of whiskey and a pack of crackers next to it. His heart pounds as he thinks about how Soap must have set this up, somehow knowing that her dad was having a bad day; his sweet girl, taking care of him even when she’s unaware of it.
Taking a tumbler from a lower shelf and filling it with a couple fingers, he slams it back. He downs the whole glass, feeling it burn all the way down his throat in a pleasant way before he snags the pack of crackers and heads to the couch to collapse into the cushions and finally take a load off.
“Dad?” he hears Soap call from the top of the stairs. “Are ye home?”
“Yeah, Jeannie,” Simon answers. In return, the sound of her descending the stairs greets him as he flops onto the couch, eyes closing as he sags into it. He sips from his glass, sighing at the soothing taste. His daughter’s footsteps pad lightly over to the space in front of him and stop.
“Long day?” she asks, still not moving. Why isn’t she moving? Usually at the end of a day like this, she’ll cuddle up to him, ensconced in his arms and safe in his embrace. He loves having her there, like he could hide her away from the world by doing it. So why-?
Simon’s eyes flutter open, then shoot wide at the vision of his daughter in nothing but a pair of dark blue, lacy, frilled panties and a tight button-up crop top, short enough to see the barest underside of her breasts and taut across the chest - pulling the buttons and creating gaps in between them where Simon can see the soft skin underneath. There’s a pair of almost innocent-looking white socks on her feet, and for some reason it’s that that feels the most obscene, and not the silhouette of his daughter’s cunt behind the lace.
“Jeannie?” Simon breathes, staring hard at where her shirt holds itself together by the power of hopes and dreams alone. “Jeannie, what are you-?”
“Oh, this?” she responds, seeming totally nonchalant about her state of undress; meanwhile, Simon can barely breathe. He knows his daughter is beautiful - practically a carbon copy of her mother - but knowing it and seeing it are two totally different things. And he’s definitely seeing it right now, if the pebbled nipples he can see through the cotton are anything to go by.
“It got a little hot in here today,” she continues blithely, appearing blissfully unaware of his internal struggle. “Kept sweatin’ and couldn’t stand it anymore.”
So she decided to meet him looking like a slut, instead. He’s going to have an aneurysm.
She eventually approaches and sits down next to him on the sofa, curling up against his arm like she did when she was a little girl, scared of the world without her mother in it. The position still holds that same tenderness to it, but today it’s charged with something that shouldn’t be there between them - between father and daughter.
Trying to distract himself from where he can feel one of her tits rubbing his bicep, Simon takes a brisk sip of his whiskey. She doesn’t let his attention wander for long though.
“I can help you relax, y’know,” she says, drawing his focus away from the whiskey and down to his chest where she twirls a finger over his heart. “Ye wouldn’t have to do anything.”
He shudders out a breath when that finger slides over and bumps one of his nipples. “Jeannie,” he gasps, desperately attempting to reign himself in. “I’m your father.”
“Aye, I know. Which is why I trust ye more than anyone else.” Soap’s hand migrates south, hitting the waistband of his pants and dipping below to tease the skin there. “Know ye wouldn’t do nothin’ to hurt me, so I wanna help ye. Just sit back, eh? Let your little girl take care of ye.”
Gods damn him, he’s going to hell for how fast he gives in as soon as she flashes those puppy-dog eyes, pleading with him adorably even as her hand slips even further into his pants. He resigns himself to leaning back and letting her continue, stomach fluttering at the ecstatic smile she blesses him with.
Soap goes slow, even once she reaches the heated flesh of his cock. She’s not in any rush, and he finds himself grateful because he doesn’t think he could handle a hot and heavy and fast affair right now. Not to mention it’s still his daughter, and he needs time to process that.
She strokes him gently, fingers wrapping around the shaft and caressing it. Her grip is loose, almost teasing, but each pull is firm enough to provide decent stimulation. He groans, head tilting back as his daughter pleasures him, caught up in the forbidden appeal of the situation.
It isn’t long before Soap is unzipping and pulling him out of his trousers, staring at his cock like it’s something to be worshiped, as if she isn’t jerking off the man that made her. She keeps up the movement, gradually pulling his pleasure to the surface. Simon is leaking precum all over her hand by now, irrationally turned on by the contrast of her tanned hand and neatly trimmed nails around the flushed, shining flesh.
Abruptly, he discerns some kind of sound that’s slightly out of place. It’s wet enough to belong in the atmosphere, but it’s off-time from her motions, so it isn’t coming from him. It takes him several moments longer than it should to realize it’s coming from her; the understanding only dawns on him when he feels her arm moving from where it’s pinned under her own weight.
His daughter is touching herself while she beats off her own dad.
Soap’s hand doesn’t falter in the slightest, still delivering firm stimulation to Simon’s cock even though she should be distracted by her own ministrations. But she’s focused, eyes remaining fixed to the gorgeous cock in front of her as it produces precum like a leaking faucet.
Simon is getting close, that feeling building in his gut as his orgasm looms. Without thinking, he wraps an arm around her back and pushes her miniscule shirt up to grope one of her breasts, relishing the shaky exhale he gets in response. He plays with her nipple like some kind of perverted fidget toy as she retains that steady pace.
As he feels his peak come upon him, Simon places his other hand on the back of his daughter’s head, almost as if he were going to push her down to swallow him, but he only rests it there. He pants heavily into her hair, heat surging through his veins as she pumps him a few more times; he crests at last, cock throbbing in her grip as his spend spurts out, drenching her hand and wrist with it.
He’s never cum so hard in his life, and it was literally by his daughter’s hand.
Her head butts against his chest as she continues to work herself over. Simon’s hand remains on her breast, squeezing and massaging it until he feels her whole body snap tight, hips bucking as she rolls her pussy over her hand to prolong the orgasm. Simon can’t help thinking that she’s even more beautiful than her mother ever was like this.
“Better, dad?” she murmurs into his shirt. He feels her nuzzle the buttons there.
“Yeah, Jeannie. Thank you,” he answers, the hand still in her hair rubbing lovingly through the strands.
“Not done yet, though.” Oh lord, what has she got in mind now?
Sluggishly, she leans down to press a kiss to his tip, her pretty face totally unmatched to the vulgar action. Then she retreats, his hand dropping from away as she does. She throws a leg over his lap and hovers there lewdly, thighs spread, underwear pushed to the side as her cunt drips, too-small shirt shoved up to reveal her perky little tits. She’s an absolute vision, one he could get thrown in jail for, but fuck, this has got to be worth it.
Soap slowly drops down to sit on his spent cock, pussy lips splitting to accommodate the girth between them. She grinds back and forth on the overstimulated shaft, making Simon jolt and grab her hips to still her.
“If your plan is to send me to an early grave, then please, continue,” he manages. “Otherwise, get on with it. Can’t handle that much immediately afterward.”
“Don’t worry, dad,” she assures, rising up once again. “This’ll be fine.”
She lines up his softened cock and sinks down on it; Simon grits his teeth, overwhelmed by the unexpected, searing heat of his daughter’s pussy around his cock. It’s so much hotter than her mother’s was, tighter too, and as much as he loved the woman, he finds himself gravitating heavily toward the illicit affair he’s now having.
Soap’s hips meet his and she stops, motionless. She sighs, apparently content, before she leans forward and settles against his chest, face pressed to his collarbone. “Just like this,” she whispers. “We’ll hold each other like this.”
His heart skips a beat, touched by the tenderness she’s displaying in the midst of their forbidden tryst. She really is taking care of him, soothing her father in the most base way possible. Neither of them should be okay with this, but they’re both far too sated to care at the moment.
They fall asleep there, his glass of whiskey forgotten as he pets her hair, her breath hot on his neck. His sweet girl, looking after him like it’s her job.
He thinks she deserves a raise.
(if that raise comes in the form of slow, intense love-making when they wake up, then that’s just fine with her.)
(and if his daughter takes to wearing those obscene panties and microscopic shirts just to please and tempt him, then that’s just fine with him.)