LUKE
Waking up the next morning is intense because of two different things I can't possibly ignore. One being the little girl in my arms wearing nothing but a shirt and underwear I don't recognize, and the other being the tent of morning wood forming underneath the duvet because of it.
My face becomes panic stricken the second it meets my eyes and I instantly want to slap myself across the head.
This should not be happening.
Even though yes, I am a guy. And yes, when I see something I like, things happen.
Unintentionally, I tense. No, I think, and if the voice inside of my head were to have any emotion, it would be nothing but stern. You do not like seeing Sophie like this. You're just a little caught off guard, that's all.
Whatever it is, I don't dwell on it. I just sit there like an idiot, swallowing thickly as I stare up at the ceiling, willing for the stupid thing to go away so I that can move without a gutteral sound falling from my lips.
Just stop thinking about it.
It doesn't work. No matter how long I stay stationary, the tight feeling in my pyjama pants begins to become unbearable and I have no solid idea as to how to deal with it.
I should busy myself. Stare at something else. That should do the trick.
The window's shut, curtains drawn, but I can still stare at the pattern of the silk. At the red intricates. The metal railings. The pretty little flowers on the side-
The pretty little flowers on Sophie's underwear.
I slap myself, hard, across the cheek. The sharp pain causes me to wince but that's just a minor thing to deal with, especially right now, at a time where my hormones are at an all time high and I shouldn't be feeling what I'm feeling.
Sucking in a deep, shakey breath, I try again. I can't be like this. This has never happened before and it's really starting to irritate me.
Why now? It's the most awkward time, in the most awkward place, with the most awkward hard-but-trying-not-to-be-hard bulge in my boxers.
I try to think about the table in the far corner, the chair tucked underneath it, the empty mug placed on top. I think about the bed, about how soft it is, what material it's made of, the curve of-
The curve of your baby girl's ass.
I almost fall off of the mattress and it's not because of the voice in my head. It's because of how Sophie sleepily drapes a leg over my crotch, brushing against my aching hard-on, completely unaware because she's sleeping and I'm still too much of a coward to leave and take care of my "situation".
There are signals going off in my brain, giant red flags screaming at me to get the fuck out of here because I know this entire thing is wrong. I have to remind myself over and over to stop letting my mind wander and to just calm the fuck down, but literally nothing is working and the sun is rising and Sophie's bound to wake up any minute now.
It's not right for me to be thinking these things and feeling these things for such an innocent, sweet girl. I'm just sexually frustrated, that's it, and seeing Sophie in the state that she is now isn't helping.
A mental war in my head ensues as she lazily rests her arm over my chest. My own is tucked underneath her head and since Sophie's a light sleeper, my actions are limited in fear of waking her up.
Nevertheless, I try to do so anyway. I carefully move my arm back, replacing it with the edge of the pillow as her head dips softly into the plush material.
I use my elbow to prop myself up, free hand brushing the hair out of her face so that she doesn't accidentally inhale it in her sleep. My fingers graze against her warm cheek and on instinct, I cup it, staring at the work of art that's her face because I don't quite have enough time to do it.
She's my little girl. She's never been anything else. She's always been mine and mine only and I've always seen her as nothing more than someone I regard wholeheartedly as my daughter.
So why, why on earth, do I suddenly want to reach down and kiss her like she isn't?
Instantly, I let go. My hand falls limp, feeling faint and fuzzy from the loss of contact as I cautiously slide off of the bed. Just have some coffee, Luke. I tell myself. Maybe that'll help you stop being a pervert.
I make myself a hot mug of something bitter, stirring it with a metal spoon before making my way over to the drawers situated on the other side of the room. My actions are pointless and they do very little as a distraction.
I rummage through my clothes for a bit. I take a peek at myself in the mirror. I sip the hot liquid. But no matter what I end up diverting myself with, my fucking dick refuses to do anything but throb for attention.
Pained, I glance over at the bed, feeling somewhat guilty as my eyes land on a sleeping Sophie. She's got her head tucked into her arm, one exposed leg poking out of the duvet while the other stays warm and still.
I gulp down my coffee, put my clothes back where they came from. My eyes dart over to the bathroom.
Every bathroom has a lock, right? I think quietly to myself.
It doesn't take long at all for my brain to comply, because this time, I don't even hesitate.
I put my mug down, running a hand through my hair as I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I just need relief, quick relief, something to make the throbbing pain of morning wood and lack of recent sexual acitivity go away.
Slamming the bathroom door shut, I feel like a fucking fifteen year old kid unable to contain his urges again as I sit on the cover of the toilet seat.
A sigh of relief escapes my lips once my erection springs free, no longer restricted by the loose yet present material of my flannel pants. With one hand staying stationary on my chest, the other takes a hold of it and a hiss leaves my lips.
I start to pant, hand wrapped around my dick as I beat it as fast as I possibly can. My mouth goes dry, lips parted because of the foreign feeling I haven't experienced in a while, and I so badly want to moan but I know that I can't because the walls are thin and anything can wake her.
Sophie. Her face makes a reappearance in my sick head and I want to choke on my own tongue, hating myself for it, hating my sick fantasies and hating the fact that it makes my hand go faster all the same.
My eyes are screwed tightly together as I bite hard on my bottom lip. My teeth take such a firm hold on the black metal ring that I'm afraid of it snapping any minute now.
I continue, and as I think of so many different things, it proves quite deranged to me when I can only concentrate on one. It's almost as if I can't help it. My mind conjures up twisted little fantasies, clips of things that have never happened and words that I've never even heard her say but am now currently dying to.
Daddy. It's awful, it's completely wrong, it's absolutely disgusting for me to even think, but I want to hear it come from her and I want to hear it come from her now.
I want to see the innocence on her face when she does so and feel the heat in my chest that ignites once her pretty pink lips part, opening to form the simple word with enough power to send me over the edge.
Daddy.
I swallow the lump in my throat, dart my tongue in the hollows of my cheeks.
My movements are fast-paced and quick and all I can think about is Sophie, Sophie's unknown pair of lace, her soft voice, her soft voice twisted into a moan-
A moan caused by you.
A moan caused by Daddy.
My hand goes faster and faster and the fire in the pit of my stomach gets bigger and bigger, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the empty room.
I don't notice it until it happens but a loud, almost desperate moan falls from my lips, a complete disregard for the consequences. Within seconds, I'm greeted by the familiar sight of me coming everywhere, my raspy pants increasing as I come harder than I ever have in my entire life.
It lands all over my stomach and I have to fight to catch my breath, movements slowing so that I can milk the pleasure for as long as I possibly can. My eyes begin to get droopy and I swear I can fall asleep right here- I'm not used to doing this, not anymore. Not since Sophie and I started sharing a bed and my alone time became hers, too.
For a second, I don't move. I feel perplexed and repulsed with myself so I just sit there, letting my orgasm roll through my body as I automatically regret the noisy outburst.
Part of me wishes for Sophie to still be asleep.
The other part, the other half I want to ignore, wishes the complete opposite.
Still dazed, I lift my head to check if there's any sunlight fully streaming in through the window now- only to be greeted with the sight of the little girl herself standing in the doorway; eyes wide open as her delicate hands cover her mouth in shock.
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I T S T O O E A R L Y F O R S M U T
W H A T T H E F U C K A M I
D O I N G
At least it's just Luke jackin off his gherkin yaKnoW
I hope you all are doing well! I love you guys so much and pls tell me how you think the story's doing so far, I'd appreciate the feedback :-)
Take care! Ilysm x
-M xxx