Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10559670.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      The_100_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Clarke_Griffin/Marcus_Kane
  Character:
      Clarke_Griffin, Marcus_Kane, Abby_Griffin
  Additional Tags:
      Incest_Kink, Incest_Play, Incest, Daddy_Kink, Older_Man/Younger_Woman,
      Age_Difference, First_Time, Underage_Sex, Accidental_Voyeurism, Sex_Toys,
      Mutual_Masturbation, Oral_Sex, Sex_Lessons, Shower_Sex, Anal_Play, Anal
      Fingering
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-07 Updated: 2018-02-04 Chapters: 8/? Words: 18790
****** Just Like Mom Likes It ******
by the_100_sin_bin_1985
Summary
     one night Clarke walks in on her mom and stepdad, and nothing's ever
     the same again after that.
     (from the 2017 kink meme! original prompt was Kane and Clarke,
     "Modern au with daddy kink. Underage clarke encouraged." your wish is
     my command, friend.)
***** Chapter 1 *****
Clarke’s eleven years old when they move to the new house and everything
changes.

Before, her childhood bedroom was on the other side of the second floor, with
her parents’ bedroom, Marcus’ office, the bathroom and the linen closet between
them. But the new house has three floors, with nothing on the top but two
bedrooms back to back, only separated by a thin wall.

At first she doesn’t completely understand what’s happening when the noises
start.

“Fuck, Abby, oh, fuck,” she hears her stepdad grunt, muffled by the wall,
accompanied by the dull thud of their metal headboard hitting the wall.

Clarke goes hot and cold all over, and a weird feeling – a little ticklish, a
little sick, a little excited, a lot curious – starts to bubble around
someplace low, below her tummy at the sound. Mom’s noises are soft and kind of
gaspy – “oh, oh, oh, oh, oh”, starting quiet and getting louder – and listening
to Mom makes her feel a little weird. But Marcus’ sounds make the feeling in
her stomach bubble up even bigger, he sounds like a hungry wild animal and he
keeps saying “fuck” and it makes Clarke feel all shivery.

She thinks they might be doing a thing she saw on TV one time, before Marcus
changed the channel. It kind of sounds the same.

She wonders if it looks like it does on TV when real people do it.

Out of her pink frilly bed on soft tiny bare feet, white cotton nightgown
floating around her like a cloud. Marcus and Mom don’t close the bedroom door
always, something they got used to in the old house, which didn't have air
conditioning. You had to keep every door and window open for things to stay
cool because of something Mom called a “cross-breeze.” So they just never got
in the habit of using doors and locks.

She stands in the dark hallway and watches. Marcus is sitting against the
headboard, eyes closed, head leaning back. Mom’s on his lap, bouncing up and
down, holding onto the headboard and making those squealing little noises while
Marcus grunts and huffs and his thighs move up and down. Clarke feels ticklish
inside again, like there’s an itch she can’t scratch, so she hitches up her
nightgown to move her hand inside her panties where the itch is coming from.
Mom’s facing away and can’t see her, Clarke can only see her back, and Marcus
has his eyes closed, so she thinks it’s safe for a closer look maybe. Hand
still inside her little white panties, she sneaks close enough that the half-
open door doesn’t hide her from view. But she’s so curious, and the feeling is
just getting stronger, but she doesn’t know what to do to make it stop. She
pets herself inside her panties, which feels nice, but it only makes the weird
new feeling stronger.

“Fuck, Marcus, I’m so close,” Mom gasps, head drooping down on his shoulder,
and then Clarke watches as their bodies start moving faster and faster and
faster, Marcus pushing up and Mom pushing down and both of them making more
noise.

Then it happens.

Marcus starts to pant, faster and faster like something’s happening, and his
eyes fly open.

He sees Clarke.

Clarke doesn’t move, terrified she’s in trouble, frozen in place. Her chin
starts to quiver. Will he yell? Will Mom turn around?

No. Nothing happens. He smiles and gives a tiny shake of his head, pressing his
finger over his lips. Clarke grins happily back, relieved, hand still inside
her little panties, and returns the gesture.Shhh. Secrets. Marcus is still
smiling, he isn’t shooing her away, so she stays to see what happens next. His
eyes stay on her the whole time, watching her hand in her panties. “I’m coming,
baby,” he says in a growl, over and over again, eyes fixed on Clarke, hips
moving faster and faster. “Fuck . . . fuck . . . so good . . . I’m gonna come,
I’m gonna come, I’m gonna –"

Then his whole body gives a big shiver and he makes a sound like he’s in pain,
and so does Mom. Clarke’s worried for a second, but when he opens his eyes he
looks happy and a little sleepy and he’s still smiling at her, so whatever
happened must be good. He presses his finger to his lips again and makes a
little waving gesture that tells Clarke she better hop back into bed before Mom
turns around. Then he blows her a kiss, she blows one back, and quietly sneaks
back to bed.

That’s the beginning.
===============================================================================
 
She waits for Marcus to bring it up next time they’re alone together, but he
doesn’t. He never says anything. He acts completely normal, and so does Mom. So
she must not be in trouble; he didn’t tell.

But Clarke, scared by the close call of almost getting caught snooping by Mom,
doesn’t want to risk it again. She just lays in her bed, listening those sounds
they make that must mean something happy, and petting herself a little bit
inside her panties, and then falling asleep.

She’s fourteen by the time she finally takes a sex ed class with enough detail
to help her fill in some of the blanks (Abby knows the health teacher, Abby
vetted the entire curriculum, she doesn’t need to give the birds and the bees
talk, she just tells Clarke to come to her if she has any questions, which
Clarke would never do in a million years because these aren’t thing you can ask
your mom; but she does ask the health teacher, gets a card with half a dozen
different informational websites, and arrives home with a long list of
mysteries solved).

The first time she masturbates, she comes at the same time Marcus does, which
makes her happy. It feels like that’s the way it should be. She rubs her clit
until she’s shivery and wet all over, and then slides one experimental finger
inside herself to wiggle around. The inside part doesn’t really do much for
her, quite honestly, and she’s not sure why that’s the one everyone seems to
like so much, but rubbing the hard little bead between her thighs feels really
yummy and makes her feel like she’s melting and floating at the same time. She
feels a weird pressure build up and build up, and it’s a little scary, like
something’s going to explode inside her and she doesn’t know what will happen.
She presses her pillow over her face, in case she can’t help making those
screams like Mom does.

“Uh, uh, uh,” Marcus grunts through the walls. “Oh fuck, oh fuck . . .”

A big electric shock explodes through Clarke, and she has to muffle a squeak in
the pillow, at the exact same time that Marcus gives that big deep groan he
always gives when it’s all over. Clarke pants to catch her breath and can hear,
through the wall, her parents doing the same.

She drifts off to sleep immediately, sated and happy, and dreams of her stepdad
holding her.
***** Chapter 2 *****
She’s fifteen when that night in her white nightgown finally comes up again.

Mom’s doing a three-month stint for Doctors Without Borders, and it’s lonely
without her. Clarke and Marcus have always been close, he’s been around since
she was four, but they miss her like crazy and it’s weird having only two
people in the house. Marcus works from home, so he’s always been the one who
does stuff like drive her to soccer and make her lunches and take her to the
zoo, he’s the one who cooks and cleans and makes sure they don’t run out of
laundry detergent and that she has glue and popsicle sticks for her science
projects. So the house keeps running, but it’s not the same with no Mom.

Marcus misses her too, but in some different ways. They Skype a million times a
day, he misses talking to her same as Clarke does, but there’s also –

You know.

The other thing.

She hears him every once in awhile in the shower, making softer, quieter
versions of those same warm grunting sounds, which makes the churning feeling
in her belly even more of a torment now that she’s old enough to know what he’s
doing in there.

Sometimes she showers after him, even when she doesn’t really have to, just to
stand naked in the shower and picture it. She closes her eyes and rests her
foot on the edge of the tub, letting the massaging showerhead pulse on her clit
and wonders if this is how Marcus does it or if he holds his dick in his hand
and rubs it up and down. They talked about this a little bit in sex ed too, and
Clarke’s seen things on TV and in movies, she can kind of picture it. She’s
seen Marcus naked a couple of times, when she was really little and nobody in
the house cared so much about bathrobes, so she remembers a little bit what his
dick looks like but not very clear.

Hot water tickles her clit until it erupts and she comes and comes, skin
steamed clean and pink, gripping the shower door handle and thinking about her
stepdad making that “uh, uh, uh” noise with his dick in his big hand.

Every once in awhile she comes out of the shower and runs into him in the
hallway and can’t quite control a blush, wondering if he can see it on her pink
clean skin, read the dirty things she was thinking. But he never does, just
ruffles her wet hair until droplets fly everywhere and then goes on his way.

The thing doesn’t happen until Mom’s been gone more than a month.

Clarke has a secret that Mom and Marcus don’t know, and it just happened today,
and she’s flushed excited and nervous and happy and scared all over. Her friend
Raven from school – the one she kisses behind the gym sometimes, the one who
explained to her about what to do with the showerhead – has a fake ID and snuck
into the store on the corner by the deli, the store with the big neon pink
“XXX” above the door, and brought Clarke back a present.

It’s little and narrow and a bright, adorable pink with tiny red hearts, and it
only takes two AA batteries, and Raven promises it’s quiet. She has one and
uses it every night. Clarke’s explained to her that she doesn’t feel anything
when things go inside her, but Raven swears she must not be doing it right, and
the present will help.

After dinner, Marcus wants to play a game or watch a movie, but Clarke can’t
wait to get to bed and try out her little pink toy, so she negotiates him down
from Pacific Rim to two episodes of something about food carts on the Cooking
Channel, and then kisses him goodnight.

A teenage girl being that eager to get to bed at 9:15 p.m. on a Friday night is
an obvious giveaway that she’s up to no good, so in hindsight Clarke realizes
she shouldn’t have been surprised that he waited a few minutes and then
followed her up the stairs, curious and maybe a little worried, wondering what
was going on and correctly surmising that she was hiding something.

So that part was pretty predictable.

It’s what he does when he gets there that changes everything.
===============================================================================
She doesn’t hear him come up the stairs or silently push open her door. She
doesn’t see him standing there, leaning in the doorway, watching her. She has
no idea he’s there.

She’s on top of the covers, lying on her back with her legs spread, panties
tossed on the floor, white cotton nightgown pushed up around her waist and
sliding off her shoulder. The little pink vibrator makes a cheerful little
buzzing sound, but when Clarke tries to put it inside, nothing feels quite
right. She closes her eyes, brow furrowed in concentration, wanting it to work,
wanting to feel what Raven said she’d feel, but she still doesn’t get it, she
has no idea why girls are supposed to like this so much, but it isn’t fun and
it doesn’t feel nice like the showerhead feels nice, it doesn’t make the thing
happen, and everything’s disappointing.

She grits her teeth, tries one more time to push it in, when she’s startled and
horrified by the feeling of a gentle hand on hers and someone sitting beside
her on the bed.

“Honey, give me that,” says a warm, low voice, and he takes the vibrator out of
her hand to set it down on the nightstand.

“Marcus?” she whispers, flustered, pink, mortified, frantically hitching down
her nightdress to cover herself up, and masks her confused feelings with anger.
“You didn’t knock!”

“I was worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you are.” She blushes and looks away. He reaches down to stroke
her hair out of her face with a smile, he’s acting so normal, he’s not
uncomfortable or embarrassed, and it helps a little. Marcus has always been
easy to talk to about girl things, he knows what brand of tampons both Clarke
and Abby like and he doesn’t get weird about buying them like some dads do,
like it’s embarrassing for them to be seen with tampons in their grocery cart.
Marcus doesn’t care. He makes everything easy, comfortable. “Does your mom know
you have this?” he asks gently, gesturing to the vibrator. Clarke flushes and
shakes her head. God, the thought of this conversation with Mom. She’d get a
mortifying Doctor Griffin lecture with a full PowerPoint presentation about
healthy female sexuality.

But the thought of sex plus her mom plus Marcus in her bedroom plus the
vibrator plus the white nightgown she’s wearing takes her back to a whole
different place and she suddenly can’t look at Marcus anymore. He reads her
discomfort immediately and with his usual skill, puts his finger right on the
thing.

“We’ve never talked about that night,” he says in a low voice, and Clarke feels
that feeling begin to bubble up inside her belly. He takes her by the hand and
sits her up against the pillows so he can scoot a little closer and look her in
the eye. She’s still flushed pink and trying to figure out how much trouble
she’s in, and she goes hot and cold all over at his words. “When you watched me
and your mom.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, so quietly he almost can’t hear her, face beet red,
looking away. He laughs, warm and gentle and not mad at all.

“Oh, baby girl, you’re not in trouble,” he says, ruffling her hair. “It’s okay.
Everything’s okay. Your mom doesn’t know, I never told her. And you and I are
fine. It’s okay, sweetheart. Totally okay, I promise.” Years’ worth of tension
uncoils all at once, and she puts her arms around his neck, snuggling
gratefully into his shoulder. He hugs her back. His arms are warm and strong,
and she feels miles better by the time he lets go of her. “I won’t tell your
mom about the vibrator either.”

“Thanks, Marcus.”

“You’re growing up,” he says, “and I think it’s good that you have it, that
you’re learning these things. I kind of get why maybe you don’t want to talk to
your mom about it, because she can be very much, you know, a doctor . . .”
Clarke giggles at this, years of shared memories coming up. Abby’s lectures on
how antibacterial products create strains of superflu, her fanaticism about
sunscreen. This would be that times a hundred. “But you know you can always
talk to me, right?” She nods. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“About that night,” he says. “Or about where you got the vibrator. Or about
standing outside the bathroom door and listening when I’m in the shower."
The hot red flush sweeps back over her cheeks and she can’t look at him. He
knows. He knows. He knows she listens. He sees her pull away, tight and
mortified, and cups her soft cheek in his hand to pull it back towards him.
“Sweetheart, you’re not in trouble,” he tells her. “I promise. You’re safe with
me, okay? I’m not mad. Never mad. But I think you might have some questions
about . . . well, about how your body works. How certain things work. And if I
can help explain things, or teach you things, then I want to try.”

“I don’t know why it feels good for other girls and not for me,” Clarke blurts
out in a small voice, then blushes, and hates herself. But Marcus gets it
immediately.

“You mean taking something inside.” She nods, instantly relieved. His tone of
voice is perfectly normal, like they’re talking about doing the dishes.

“Raven says she has one just like this and it feels really good. She likes it a
lot. And Mom – “ She can’t quite take this line of thought any further, but
Marcus finishes for her.

“Yes,” he says. “You saw us. And you’ve heard us, probably a lot. Yes. It feels
really, really good for your mom.”

“But I can’t make it feel good. Not with the pink thing, or my fingers, or
anything.”

“It takes practice,” he says easily. “For a lot of women. And you have to be
super, super relaxed the first time, or your muscles just clamp down all tight
and it doesn’t feel good. Or it hurts. And then you have to make sure you’re .
. . well, ready.”

“Ready?”

“Wet,” he explains. “That’s why your body does that. To make that part of it
easier. The more wet you are, the easier it will be. And all of that takes
practice, and experience. But while you’re learning, there are other ways to
feel good that work just as well.” She nods at this, and his eyes grow warmer,
more interested. “Oh,” he says. “So you’ve already . . . this isn’t the first
time you’ve tried.”

She wants to turn away and stop looking at him, her belly is churning, it’s
like that very first night when she was eleven except with the volume turned
way up because of the way he’s looking at her.

“Clarke,” he says to her, in a quiet voice that makes her shiver all over, “do
you touch yourself when you listen to us?”

His eyes are big and dark and she can’t pull away from his stare. “Please don’t
tell Mom,” she whimpers quietly. He shakes his head.

“Mom doesn’t need to know,” he says softly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m going
to teach you. I’m going to teach you everything.”

She swallows hard. “Teach me what?”

“When you were little,” he tells her. “When you watched us. Do you want it like
that?” Her eyes fly wide open, shocked, embarrassed, pink to the roots of her
golden hair, but he’s not making fun of her, he’s warm and kind and perfectly
serious. “What you saw me do with your mom,” he says gently. “You want to learn
how to make it feel good like that.”

She bites her lip, thinks about lying, thinks about denying it. It might be
easier.

But then she thinks about those sounds, about her mom practically screaming in
pleasure, and she thinks about Marcus all sweaty and flushed and those “uh uh
uh” noises that make her feel shivery, and she thinks about how the little pink
toy made her feel nothing and Raven wasn’t any help, and yeah, she needs
someone who knows what they’re doing.

“Teach me,” she implores him. “Please. But don’t tell Mom.”
 
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
A warm, pleased smile breaks over his face as he kisses her hair and lowers her
back down onto her back on the lacy pink-and-white bed. Then he dims the
bedside lamp and climbs into the bed with her. She reaches for the toy, but he
pulls her hand back. “Not yet,” he says. “We’re going to start at the very
beginning. For each lesson, once you get it right, I’ll give you a reward. I’ll
show you the right way to use that later. But for now we’re going to start much
simpler.”

“Okay,” she says breathlessly, his big warm body settling over hers. She’s
always loved cuddling with Marcus, and this is no different. He runs his hands
up and down her arms and kisses her forehead to soothe her, and she squirms
happily as he shifts his weight to cover her completely. “Where do we start?”

“The girl who gave you the vibrator.”

“Raven.”

“Raven. Do you kiss her sometimes?”

“Yeah. Sometimes. Don’t –"

“. . . tell your mom. I know, I know. Show me how you do it.”

“What?”

“Kiss me,” he says. “Kiss me like you kiss Raven.” Then he goes soft and
unresistant, lets her guide him, lets her take the lead so she can show him.

Clarke and Raven’s kisses are high on enthusiasm and low on skill. Her mouth
crashes into Marcus’ and works fast and wet against his lips, hungry and clumsy
and rushed. After a moment, he gently, kindly, cups her face in his hands and
pulls her away. “That’s a really good start,” he says in an encouraging voice.
“But I’m going to teach you a different way, okay? You were kissing me like a
girl. I’m going to show you how to kiss like a woman.”

“What,” she starts to ask, but then everything flies out of her head when his
lips touch hers.

It starts soft, so soft, just the lightest brush of contact, his lips nibbling
against hers, his moustache and beard tickling her skin. He cradles her face
like she’s a precious thing, then opens his mouth and lets the warm pressure of
his tongue trace the seam of her lips until they tumble open and his tongue can
sweep into her mouth. “Mmmm,” he moans into her, and Clarke feels like she
might burst because he’s making the sound for her, really for her, it’s a
little one and a quiet one but it’s all hers, she got him to make it. His
tongue brushes over hers, which tickles her whole body and makes warmth pool
between her thighs, and his lips open and close against hers so gently that
they guide her into their rhythm. Soon she’s kissing him back the same way,
hot, melting, open, his low rumbling moaning sounds coursing through her
bloodstream.

“That’s much better, baby,” he whispers into her cheek as his lips move from
her mouth to her hairline, her ear, her neck. “You kissed Daddy like a big
girl, I’m so proud of you.”

Daddy.

A word they’ve never used. Jake was “your dad” or “your father,” gone so long
ago that Clarke doesn’t remember him. Marcus was always Marcus. But “Daddy”
makes her feel warm all over, it’s a word made of love, it’s a word that means
she’s small and he’s big and he’s going to take care of her and everything’s
going to be all right.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispers back, and feels the crackle of electricity
between them as he stares at her, eyes big and dark.

He likes that.

He really likes it.

So does she.

His weight shifts on top of her, his hips rocking a little bit, the way they
did with Mom, and that makes her all shivery too. She’s making him feel good.

“Do you want to play with yourself a little bit while I kiss you?” he asks,
tucking a golden strand of hair behind her ears. “It’s okay if you do.”

“Yes please,” she murmurs, and he moves to make room for her hand between their
bodies. He told her to, so she isn’t embarrassed, slipping her fingers between
her thighs and rubbing her little pink clit as his mouth opens and closes on
hers.

“Want to play with Daddy a little bit too?”

She stares up at him, astonished. “Can I?”

“We’ll start slow,” he tells her, guiding her hand to the front of his boxer
shorts. “Don’t go inside just yet. But yes. You can touch it.” She gives a
gentle squeeze, and is rewarded by a soft little “uh” noise of pleasure. “Very
good, Princess,” he tells her. “Oh, you’re gonna be so good at this, baby girl.
Me and you are going to make each other feel so, so good.”
They lie there like that for a long time. Marcus holds her face in both hands,
kissing her, deep and hard and slow, while she fumblingly strokes both of them
with eager little fingers. She wants to come, but can’t quite get there, and
it’s infuriating because everything feels so shivery-good that she needs
release or she’ll go crazy.

Finally, Marcus lifts his head from hers and pulls her hand away from kneading
his cock through his shorts.
“Did I do good, Daddy?”

“Oh, Princess,” he murmurs hoarsely, “you did so good. You kissed Daddy just
like a big girl. That was the first lesson and you passed. Now you get a
treat.”

“What is it?”

“I’m going to teach you how to use your new toy,” he tells her, smiling. “Lie
back and get comfortable.”

So she does.

He settles her back against the pillows, fluffing them beneath her head,
stroking her hair. Then he gently lifts her nightgown up above her hips,
pressing soft kisses against her tummy that tickle and make her laugh. “We’re
going to start slow,” he tells her, reaching for the pink toy and switching it
on, “so I’m not going to go inside. I’m going to do it the other way.”

“What other – oh!” she gasps, as the buzzing little head of the vibrator hits
her clit and shivers ring through her, reverberating from head to toe like he’s
struck an iron bell inside her body.

“Like you do with your fingers,” he murmurs, “but this instead.”

“Okay,” she whispers breathlessly. “Okay.”

“Clarke, has Raven or anybody else ever kissed you down there?”

“What? Down there? No, never.”

“Okay,” he tells her, “I’m going to use this and I’m going to give you some
kisses and I want you to tell me what you like.”

“Marcus, are we going to do the thing?” she asks suddenly, and he looks up at
her, pausing. “The thing you and Mom do,” she plunges on recklessly. “That
makes her yell like that. That makes you make that sound.”

He looks at her for a long time. “You’re fifteen, Clarke,” he tells her, “you
know what it’s called. Ask me.”

“Are we going to . . . “ Her voice trails off so quietly it’s barely audible.
“Have sex,” she mumbles, turning away, words disappearing into the pillow.

He doesn’t answer. “Use the word you heard us use,” he finally says in a low
voice, and it has that thing in it, that mysterious thing that makes her feel
shivery all over, like the voice he uses on Mom. “If you want me to do it to
you. It’s okay if you don’t. But if you do, ask me for it, and use the word we
used.”

“I’m not supposed to say it.”

“You can say it to me,” he tells her. “That’s what I like to call it.”

She nods, shakily. “I want you to f – to fuck me,” she finally blurts out,
trembling, and she’s rewarded with another deep, impossibly delicious kiss.

“I will,” he breathes into her ear. “Oh, baby girl. I will. But you have to be
patient. I’m going to teach you everything, and I’m going to do it right, so
when the time comes, oh, sweetheart, I promise, it’s going to feel so good.” He
kisses her nose, smiling. “Now lie back and close your eyes.”
The vibrator sings and hums against her skin, making her little thighs shake.
Marcus has to hold her down with his other hand flat on her belly, but when
that’s not enough, he makes her hold the little toy in place so he can press
down on both her thighs, preventing her from wriggling free. She comes with a
little squeak, shaking so hard she drops the vibrator. He picks it up, switches
it off, and runs soothing hands up and down her trembling legs. “That was
good,” he tells her approvingly. “Really good. Now it’s time for something
new.”

When he kisses her between the legs, she goes melty and hot all over, and
everything becomes a blur. His tongue is everywhere at once, it feels like,
sometimes tracing little circles around the bead of her clit, sometimes darting
in and out of the opening where she just had the vibrator, sometimes licking up
the middle with broad flat strokes like a cat. Everything feels good, but she’s
all melty and fuzzy and she can’t tell him how much she likes it because she
can’t get words to come out at all. This time when she comes it’s even bigger
than before, it’s like nothing she’s ever felt, it’s like she’s exploding, and
it’s partly the feeling of his mouth and his beard and his tongue all over her
but it’s also the moaning little sounds of happiness he makes as he nuzzles
her, like she tastes good, like he wants to do this, like he’s happy.

A picture of herself on his lap, bouncing up and down in her parents’ bed.
Marcus grunting “uh, uh, uh . . . fuck, Clarke, baby girl, you feel so good . .
. so good for Daddy . . ."

She comes again, right after the second one, she didn’t even know she could do
that, her whole body quivering like it’s made of jelly as he slowly kisses his
way back up her chest to her mouth.

She’s flushed and sweating and weak and her eyes are glazed over, hair a
tangled golden mess on the pillow. “Goodnight, baby girl,” he murmurs, as he
rises from the bed and leaves her there.

She hears him go into his room and close the door, hears him switch off the
light and climb into bed.

Then it happens.

A soft, wet, slapping sound, skin on skin.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he grunts, knowing she’s listening. “Oh fuck. Yes. Fuck.”

Clarke feels between her thighs. She’s soaked.

She reaches for the vibrator, still shining and wet on her bedside table.

“Uh, uh, uh,” grunts Marcus heavily through the wall as Clarke slips it down
between her thighs and switches it on.

They come at the same time.
***** Chapter 4 *****
She sleeps blissfully, limbs heavy and sated and soft, and wakes up when a
gentle hand on her shoulder shakes her awake. Marcus, in his bathrobe, is
sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Morning, princess,” he grins at her, stroking her hair.

She yawns and stretches sleepily like a kitten. “Mmmm. Morning.”

“Did you sleep well?” She nods happily up at him. “Good girl. Now come here for
a minute and show me you remember what we learned last night.” He scoops her up
in his arms until she’s sitting against the headboard where he can lean in
close. “Give Daddy a kiss.”

She concentrates hard, she’s slow and careful, she wants to get it right. She
cups his bearded jaw in her little hands and brushes her soft pink lips over
his mouth, then opens to let her tongue brush against his. He moans lightly
into her mouth again and she starts to shiver, mouth working open and closed
more and more hungrily against him. His grip on her arms tightens, like he’s
struggling to maintain control, and those sounds she likes so much get louder,
and she feels wet and warm between the thighs again, little high-pitched mewls
of want muffled against his big rough tongue.

Finally he pulls away and kisses her forehead. “Oh, that’s so good,” he
murmurs. “I think we can move onto the next lesson.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to go take a shower.”

“Okay. And then after?”

He shakes his head, smiling mischievously at her. “No, sweetheart. I’m going to
take a shower. And you’re going to come with me.”
===============================================================================
The upstairs bathroom in this house was part of what sold Mom on it, Clarke
remembers; she was swooning out loud of the marble vanity and the skylights
when they took the tour with the realtor. And the bathtub is her favorite
detail. A jacuzzi tub big enough for four, encased in glass with an elaborate
system of multiple showerheads and build in benches. Plenty of room for one
daddy and one little girl to fit in there together.

Marcus closes the bathroom door – even though there’s nobody else home – and
pushes the buttons that close the skylights halfway, dimming the blinding
bright morning sun. It makes everything feel a little cozy and a little
private, and Clarke feels warm all over. He turns on the hot water, letting the
room fill a little bit with steam, then he makes sure Clarke is watching and
tugs open his robe.

Oh.

His whole body is nice, the right amount of smooth and the right amount of hair
and so strong. She’s seen him with no shirt before but it’s different when he’s
totally naked. Her eyes follow the dark trail of hair from his chest down to
the swelling heavy thing between his thighs that looks way, way, way too big to
fit inside of Mom, let alone her, but she can’t stop staring at it anyway.

“Now you,” he says gently, and watches with dark, interested eyes as she shyly
tugs her nightgown over her head, pale hair spilling over white shoulders.

His eyes are so intense on her body it’s like she can feel them. He stares at
her breasts, he stares between her legs, he walks around behind her and stares
at the back of her, quiet for so long she starts to get embarrassed and shy.
But “No, baby girl,” he murmurs, pulling her hands away when she tries
awkwardly to cover herself. “No, Daddy’s not done looking yet. Everything’s so
beautiful. I’m not done looking yet.” The word “beautiful” makes her blush
awkwardly and look away, but he takes her face in his hands and pulls her back
to him. “Beautiful,” he repeats again firmly, giving her a sweet, slow kiss.
“Daddy’s beautiful baby girl.” His hands run lightly over her skin, giving her
goosebumps – up her arms, along her shoulders, then sliding down to take her
breasts in his hands and lightly pinch each nipple until it stands up straight
in a tight, aching little peak.

Then he opens the shower door, steps inside, and pulls her in after him.
He washes her first, gentle and tender, lathering her body and her hair with
Mom’s fanciest, sweet-smelling bath stuff nobody but her is supposed to use.
His hands on her body are soft and strong and the steam feels so nice and she
gets all melty as he touches her everywhere, so soft, so full of love for his
baby girl. She washes him next, a little more clumsily, standing on her tiptoes
to reach his shoulders with the loofah, fumbling and giggling a little. He
stops to kiss her a lot, and she feels warmth between her legs that isn’t just
the heat of the shower. Finally when they’re both scrubbed clean he switches
the showerhead to the massage setting, the one Clarke likes to hold against her
clit, and he gently sits her down on one of the benches in the tub. “Spread
your legs,” he orders her in a low voice, and takes one long greedy look at her
fresh pink cunt, downy with golden hair. Then he hands her the showerhead.
“Let’s play a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“A race,” he explains. “You do it the way you usually do it, and I’ll do it the
way I usually do it, and we’ll watch each other, and see who finishes first.
Then tonight’s lesson will be to see if you can do it to me the way I do it to
myself.”

Clarke watches the heavy dick between his thighs, and bites her lip. He’s going
to take it in his hands, he’s going to make the noises right here, for her, she
gets to watch. She nods breathlessly, leaning back against the wall of the tub,
propping up one foot to open herself wider – both to the stream of water, and
to his thirsty gaze – and then places the nozzle over her cunt.

“Go,” says Marcus, and as he grips his dick in his hand she moves the nozzle
directly over her clit, yelping with pleasure.

Usually she has to try to be quiet when she does this, but it’s nice not to
have to worry about that. Her soft, shrill little cries of pleasure – “oh, oh,
oh, oh” – float through the low grunting sounds he makes, along with the wet
rush of flesh on flesh. She watches his hand move up and down, tries to
remember every movement so she can do this to him later. His sounds make her
shivery and his eyes are locked onto her cunt and his big smooth wet dick is
stretched out big and long and shining pink and purple in his big strong hand
and even though he seems to be going really slow for someone in a race, he’s
definitely enjoying himself.

Clarke comes first, with a high-pitched gasping little scream, and Marcus
catches the showerhead in her limp hand, hanging it back up with a chuckle
before she drops it. “I won!” she announces, thinking he’ll protest (Marcus is
ruthlessly competitive at family game night and yells at the television a lot
when the World Cup is on). But he merely smiles lazily, still stroking himself.

“You sure did, baby girl,” he murmurs. “I’m so proud of you. Why don’t you come
over here and get a closer look.”

She clambers wetly down onto her knees, using the bench for balance, until his
dick is level with her face and she can watch him carefully. Hand up and down,
smooth long strokes. The tip seems to be sensitive, he touches himself there a
lot. She studies it painstakingly, like she’s cramming for a test.

“Can I touch it?” she asks him doubtfully, “or is that cheating for later?”

He chuckles. “You can touch it,” he murmurs, amused. “But be gentle. Soft
fingers. And it likes kisses, too.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Remember last night, what I did with you? Later I’ll teach you how
to do it to me.”

“And does it feel just as nice?”

“Really, really nice, baby. I’ll show you how to do it right.”
He pauses his hand mid-motion and lets Clarke take a closer look. She’s gentle,
just like he asked, running wet little fingers along the big ridged vein and
the blushing pink head, stroking the smooth skin, before looking up at him for
permission and then bending her head to press a soft kiss on the warm, pink,
clean flesh.

“Perfect,” he murmurs. “Now stand back a little bit, baby, because this part
makes a mess.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, but he doesn’t answer, and she forgets her
question almost immediately because he’s doing it, he’s making the sounds. “Uh,
uh, uh, uh, uh, uh.” Hand flying hot and fast and slick up and down his cock,
grunting, hungry, not even trying to hold back the sound, mouth parted, eyes
fixed intensely on hers as she stares and bites her lip and trembles with
pleasure. It's even better when it's not muffled by the door, even better when
she can watch his face, watch his hand.

Then something happens, she doesn’t know what, and warm white liquid suddenly
bursts out of nowhere all across her belly and breasts, surprising her and
making her giggle. He laughs too.

“Sorry if that startled you.”

“What was that?”

“You know how you get wet when you come? It’s the same way for me, except yours
stays all nice and clean inside here –“ (he tickles her pussy until she
giggles) “ . . .and for men, it comes out of here.” He gestures to the tiny
little slit in the head of his cock, and she leans in to get a closer look at
the thick white liquid seeping out of it. “It makes a mess, which is why I
usually only do it either inside your mom, or in the shower.”

She looks up at him. “You weren’t in the shower when you did it last night.”

He looks down at her sharply, his expression changing, the amused smile falling
away. “So you heard that,” he says, raising an eyebrow. She nods. “Did you
touch yourself, Clarke? Did you make yourself come again?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, awkward and hesitant, not sure if that’s the right
answer but frozen under his penetrating stare.

“Oh, no, baby girl,” he murmurs. “No, that’s exactly what you were supposed to
do. That was for you. I did that for you. I was thinking about you and hoping
you were thinking about me.”

“I always am,” she confesses, all in a rush, words tumbling out. “Every time I
do it, I’m thinking about you.”

This makes him swallow hard, like it’s something he wasn’t prepared for. “Is
that true?” She nods. “You think about watching me and your mom?” Another nod.
“And maybe, sometimes, maybe you picture it that it’s you instead? Instead of
her?”

“I don’t want you to stop loving her,” Clarke whispers, “I just want you to
love me too.”

His mouth is on hers before she even knows what’s happening, hands all over
her, smearing the warm sticky liquid across her skin. “You’re such a good
girl,” he murmurs. “Such a good girl who loves her mother and her daddy so
much. Such a big heart. Oh, you deserve a special treat for being so sweet, my
baby.” Then he drops to his knees in front of her. “Hold on,” he orders her,
looking up at her with something like adoration in his eyes, waiting for her to
clutch hard onto the chrome rail on the side of the tub. Then he lifts her leg
in his strong hands, draping her slender little thigh over his shoulder, and
nuzzles into her cunt so deeply she almost screams.

Last night he was light, and slow, and gentle, but he’s ravenous today and
she’s so glad she has something to hold onto because his tongue feels so good
she thinks she’ll fall over. Rough and hard and demanding, but in the best way.
And his beard tickles the inside of her thighs at this angle, his nose pushes
into her, his lips are sweet and soft, everything feels good everywhere and
even though she just came from the shower she comes again in almost no time at
all, melting into orgasm as he catches her in his arms and holds her tight for
a long, long time, letting the hot steaming water scour them clean.
***** Chapter 5 *****
It’s Saturday, and neither of them have any plans, and there’s a James Bond
movie marathon on TV. So they put on the bare minimum of clothing – Marcus
pulls on a pair of boxers and watches with a warm smile as Clarke tugs on a
pair of white cotton panties with little red hearts. “Here,” he murmurs, and
hands her something silky and white.

It’s Mom’s.

She puts it on a little shyly, reveling in the feeling of silk against her
skin. It’s a negligee cut low in the front and back, the vee-shaped neckline
dipping between her breasts, so short it barely covers Clarke’s ass. She’s
never seen Mom wear this, only seen it in the laundry, and the fact that Mom’s
never worn it out of the bedroom probably means it’s something Mom only saves
to wear during . . .

Oh.

Clarke flushes pink all over as Marcus runs his hands up the silky white
fabric, cupping her breasts and making her shiver. “Perfect,” he says, then
leads her downstairs.

Marcus texts Mom that they’re taking a family day and both turning off their
phones. She texts back a string of heart and smiley face emojis that means she
loves them, misses them, and wouldn’t have time to talk anyway because she’s in
the middle of a double-shift in surgery. Marcus makes blueberry pancakes and
they eat on the couch and watch From Russia With Love. Something’s changed
between them, making Clarke want to be touching Marcus all the time. They’ve
always been an affectionate family, but before last night, if they were
watching a movie together she’d sit on the other side of the couch. But now
she’s curled up into his side with his arm around her, legs draped over his
lap, cradled in his arms, and it feels like perfect happiness.

Of course, some of the sex scenes are pretty sexy, and every once in awhile
Clarke shifts and feels Marcus’ lap shift and grow hard beneath her, and then
feels warmth between her own thighs at the thought. So from time to time, over
the course of the day as they snuggle up together and watch movie after movie,
Marcus’ left hand slides into his shorts and his right hand into Clarke’s
little white panties and she nuzzles her face into his shoulder, swooning with
happiness at those little grunting sounds she loves so much, and coming with a
little gasp at the sound of his big groaning cry.

They order Thai food for dinner and stay up late to finish Casino Royale, and
then Marcus turns to her and runs his hands up the white silk against her skin
and murmurs, “Upstairs, baby girl. Time for tonight’s lesson.”

“Are you going to fuck me?” she whispers, cheeks hot red with anticipation. “Is
that why I’m wearing this?”

“You’re wearing that because I wanted to look at you in it,” he tells her.
“You’re still not quite ready for that yet, baby. We have to make sure you’re
ready so it feels good the first time.”

“I can be ready,” she says bravely, and he smiles and kisses her hair.

“I want it to feel good when you take me inside you,” he murmurs, following her
into her room and shutting the door. “I want to make sure you like the way that
feels.”

“The way Mom does?”

He nods. “Yeah. The way your mom does.” He sits Clarke on the edge of her
frilly white bed and stands in front of her, tugging his shorts down so the
rock-hard cock inside springs free. “Remember what I showed you when I did it
to myself this morning?” he asks, and she nods. “Okay. Now it’s your turn. Make
me come with your hands, sweet girl. Show me what you learned.”
She strokes him slow and careful, dry warm hands gliding up and down the shaft
of his cock until she starts to see dewy little drops of liquid begin to seep
out the tiny slit in the tip. “Why don’t you rub that all over,” he murmurs,
“so Daddy’s nice and wet.”

“Does it feel nicer for you that way too?” she asks, looking up at him. “Like
it does for me?”

He nods. “Daddy likes it really wet,” he murmurs. “Wet and messy is my favorite
way.”

Clarke thinks for a minute, then slips a hand inside her own panties, where
she’s soaked from Marcus fingering her all afternoon long, and coats her
fingers in slick, sticky warmth before rubbing it all over Marcus’ warm, hard
cock. “There,” she says, eyes wide and innocent. “Did that help? Is that
better?”

Marcus can’t answer. He swallows hard, over and over again, a hot red flush
sweeping over his face and down to his bare chest. His hands in her hair are
trembling.

“Do that again,” he whispers, so low she can hardly hear him. “Oh, please,
Clarke. Please. Do that again.”

So she does, scooping up warm wetness in her fingers and lifting it out of her
soaked white panties to make Marcus’ cock shiny and slick. He closes his eyes
as she strokes him. “Stand up,” he murmurs. “Stand up, baby, come here, I have
to kiss you, I have to . . . oh fuck, oh fuck . . .”

So she stands obediently, reaching up on tiptoes so he can reach her mouth, and
gasps in shock as he seizes her face, rough, wild, desperate, and kisses her
with wild abandon. It’s like watching people kiss in the movies, it’s like
she’s a woman, it makes her all shivery and gives her goosebumps. “That was the
sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he groans as he pulls away. “Touching
yourself and then touching me. Don’t stop, baby, don’t stop, get your hand wet
and then jerk me off, hold me tight, let me pretend like I’m in you, like I’m
fucking you, please, baby, please.”

Clarke thinks she might come just from this, from him begging her for something
like she’s the one with all the control. She steps in close, tugs her panties
down to her ankles, and begins to move her hand wetly between her cunt and his
cock as he clutches at her hair and kisses her over and over, groaning
shattered repetitions of “yes, yes” into her mouth and cheek and throat.

Once he’s dripping wet, she pulls away enough to sit back down on the edge of
the bed, to get to eye level. “You said it likes kisses,” she reminds him, and
he groans with his whole body.

“You’re skipping ahead one lesson, baby girl,” he cautions her.

“I’m ready,” she promises him. “I can do it. I want to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Because this is daddy’s favorite way, he’s been dreaming about you doing this
to him for a long, long time.”

She looks up at him, a question in her eyes. “You mean before?” she asks him
innocently. “Before last night?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I wanted you even before then.”

This makes her heart start to beat a little faster. Knowing he isn’t really
just teaching her, he isn’t really doing her a favor. The thing he does with
Mom, he wants to do it with her too. Really wants to. The thought of it is
making him all flushed and shaky.

She runs gentle fingertips up and down his shaft, lifting it to her mouth, and
kisses the tip, so gently, so softly, just a light press of lips against skin.
He groans from deep and low in his belly. “Kiss it the way I kiss you, baby,”
he murmurs. “With your mouth open. With your tongue. See all that shiny wetness
on Daddy’s cock? I want you to lick me and suck me until that’s all clean. Lick
yourself off my cock, Princess. Can you do that?”

She nods. Simple. Of course she can. She’ll do anything that makes him look at
her like that.
***** Chapter 6 *****
She’s shy at first, but it’s impossible to resist when he’s looking at her with
that wild, fierce hunger in his eyes, cupping her face with his big hands and
stroking her hair.  She gives him a soft, experimental lick, up at the tip
where it’s all pink and smooth and gleaming with wetness, and he makes that
grunting sound she loves so much, which makes her smile.  He’s too big to fit
into her mouth all the way, but she can take the whole tip inside, the pink
part that’s flared like the cap of a mushroom, she can wrap her lips around it
and look up at her daddy and smile with her mouth full of cock as he cradles
her cheeks and whispers, “Oh, that’s it, baby girl.  That’s perfect.  Just like
that.”  Inside her mouth, she lets her tongue roam all over the smooth
surface.  It’s a strange sensation, to hold something so big and so warm and so
heavy in her mouth and just keep it there, and she’s embarrassed at first to
feel the wetness begin to pool around it, trickling down the flesh.  But his
eyes widen at this, he doesn’t seem to mind it, so this must be the right way
to do it.  When her mouth overfills with saliva, she gamely struggles to
swallow, involuntarily sucking hard around the cock in her mouth as she does,
and Marcus makes a sound she’s never heard before, a gasp so sharp she’s afraid
for a moment that she’s hurt him until she looks up and sees the wild light in
his eyes.  More? She asks him wordlessly, and he nods. 
So she sucks diligently and carefully, letting her tongue swirl around and
around the tip like licking an ice cream cone, and trembles with pleasure at
the sound of his groaning.  He’s gentle with her, but firm and clear, and she
learns what he likes very quickly.  When his hand slides up into her hair to
caress the back of her head and apply very light pressure, she knows it means
he wants her to try going a little deeper, so she opens up wider to let the
heavy weight bump over her tongue and further into her mouth.  It feels so
weird but so good, and she likes the way he tastes, all warm and salty. 
“I want you to come with me,” he whispers as she slurps wetly around his cock,
looking up at him.  “Baby, reach over and get your vibrator for Daddy, I want
to watch you make yourself feel good at the same time.  Can you hold onto me
with one hand and play with yourself at the same time?”
She nods, mouth still full, and fumbles blindly without pulling away until her
hands locate the little pink vibrator on the nightstand, which she slips inside
her soaked panties, letting the head just nudge at her clit.  “Ready?” he asks,
and she nods.  “Not a race this time,” he cautions her.  “See how close you can
get us to come together.  I want to come when my baby girl comes.”  She nods
again, brow furrowed in concentration.  This will be tricky – she’ll need to
figure out the signs that he’s close and make sure she gets the pace right –
but she’s aching between the thighs at the thought of coming at the same time.
Switching on the vibrator changes everything.  Her humming moans and sighs of
pleasure reverberate around the hot weight in her mouth, so her pleasure brings
him pleasure.  She squirms and wriggles, pleasure sparking through her, and she
can feel Marcus’ intent gaze as she lets the little plastic tip buzz against
her clit.
“Why don’t you lift my cock up against my stomach and lick the underside of
it,” he murmurs, “right along the big vein.  Daddy really likes it like that.”
The shivery-sweet feeling of the vibrator against her clit makes her feel a
little bit wild, a little bit reckless, and she wants to taste him there so
bad, so when she lifts his cock to lick him she doesn’t hold back.  It’s messy
and noisy and sticky and wet and she likes the way the ridged vein feels under
her tongue, likes the way Daddy grunts with rough, startled pleasure when her
little pink tongue pokes at the very tippy-top where the big vein meets the
puffy pink head, or when she slides all the way to the bottom where the big
heavy balls rest at the base.  Impulsively, she pulls one into her mouth,
wondering how it will feel, and Marcus gasps.  He likes that.  She moves her
mouth around it, wetly, messily, letting it shift around inside, like chewing
but without teeth, just playing with it to see what it feels like.  The grunts
are coming harder and faster now, he’s moaning her name like he’s close, so she
switches to the other one and takes it inside her mouth too, smiling up at the
stunned look of pleasure on Marcus’ wide-eyed face. 
She’s getting really, really close now, little fireworks rippling between her
thighs from deep inside and pressure mounting like it’s about to happen.  And
the big, shining dick in her hand is twitching and trembling and she bets
Marcus is pretty close too, so she takes a deep breath, bracing herself for the
feeling of that hot burst of whiteness she got to see in the shower, only now
instead of on her skin it will be in her mouth.  She’s a little nervous, but
more curious than scared.
“Open up as wide as you can, baby girl,” Marcus whispers, caressing her cheeks
before gripping his dick in one big hand.  “You can let go, you can use those
hands on yourself.  I’ll hold on and keep it in place, okay? Just keep your
mouth open and relax your throat, and breathe.”
She nods, feeling a flutter in her stomach, and squeezes her eyes closed to
concentrate, one hand petting the damp hair of her cunt while the other keeps
the vibrator going.  She feels Marcus place a steadying hand on the back of her
head, gently stroking her hair, as with his other hand he pushes his dick
deeper into her mouth, bit by bit by bit.  It’s startling at first, and all her
happy little sighs of pleasure are turned into muffled wet gurgling noises by
the presence of this massive warm thing sliding slowly backwards over her lips
and teeth and tongue, but Marcus seems to like the noises, so she doesn’t feel
embarrassed.  She’s a little bit afraid of choking, but he goes so slow, and
he’s so tender as he strokes her hair and murmurs her name, that she can
remember to breathe through her nose and stay relaxed.  He can’t fit all the
way inside, there’s too much of him, but he finds a depth they both like and
begins to pump in and out just a tiny bit.  She squeezes her lips tight around
him, and he groans a rough “Yes,” so she presses tighter.  It makes her feel
all shivery, like he’s fucking her mouth, like this is what it will feel like
when they do it for real, that hot heavy wet slide, in and out, in and out, as
he grunts her name. 
She beats him by only a second, the vibrator tumbling out of her hand onto the
floor as her whole body convulses and she cries out, but muffled by saliva and
cock.  “Did you make yourself come for Daddy?” Marcus whispers, and she nods,
still shaking, and then he gets there too.
She squeaks an astonished, wet, gurgling exclamation as the hot liquid begins
to pour into her throat, she can’t help it, she got distracted by her own
orgasm and now her mouth is filling up faster than she can swallow as Marcus
pumps his dick, hand flying hard and fast, squeezing out every last drop.  It
spills out over her lips and chin, she can’t hold onto it all, even after the
heavy weight slides back over her lips and out again.  It’s salty and bitter
and strange and interesting and she doesn’t not like the taste, but there’s
just so much of it, it looked like a lot less when they were in the shower, but
she’s afraid of making a mess, of doing it wrong by accident, so she tries
valiantly to swallow it all down.
“Baby, it’s okay,” he murmurs, and then suddenly in one swift movement she’s on
her back and he’s on top of her, his mouth on hers, gently pulling the warm
liquid she’s holding inside her mouth into his own so she can swallow and
breathe again.  They kiss for a long time, wet, sticky, the liquid flowing back
and forth, it’s the weirdest feeling Clarke’s ever had but she doesn’t want it
to stop.  His kisses soothe her, and she came pretty hard, so she’s feeling all
soft and melty and happy and relaxed, so she doesn’t protest when she feels him
scoop up the cum on her cheeks and chin and neck and reach down between her
thighs with wet sticky fingers.  She doesn’t have any idea what he’s about to
do until he does it.
“Oh!” she cries out, sharp and startled, as one strong, warm, wet finger crooks
upwards inside of her, causing a brief flash of pain and a shock of pressure,
and instantly he’s right there, his other hand stroking her hair, his tongue
gently bathing her mouth with soft kisses, licking her clean, murmuring in her
ear, “Shhhhh, baby, just breathe, just relax for Daddy, you’re ready to lean
how this part feels now.”
“You’re inside me,” she whispers breathlessly, heart pounding, astonished at
the feeling of movement and pressure, pain subsiding and replaced by something
new, realizing it feels good, the way his finger slides in and out, the way it
moves around, the way it . . .
. . . the way it . . .
Oh . . .
Oh God . . .
He curls his finger like he’s beckoning to her and he touches some spot she
didn’t even know about and suddenly she understands why this is the part
everybody likes so much.  “Daddy,” she gasps, reaching up and clutching his
face in both hands, “Daddy, is this what it’s going to feel like?  Like this,
but more?”
He kisses her, hard.  “Like this, but so much more,” he promises, caressing her
hair.  “Like this, but even better.”
“I like it so much,” she whimpers as he keeps gently rubbing that deep-inside
place with his fingertip, making her squirm, making her wriggle against him. 
“It’s so good, Daddy.  I like it so much.”
He shifts his weight so he’s lying fully atop her, his hand pressed between
both their bodies.  “Lift your hips up and down, baby girl,” he whispers, “if
you want more you can take as much more as you want.”
“Like we’re . . . like we’re f – “
“Say it, Princess.”
“Like we’re fucking.”
“Mmmmm,” he moans as his lips brush up and down her neck, making goosebumps
rise up all over her skin.  “Yes, baby.  Like we’re fucking.  Pretend like
we’re fucking.”
So she does.  She wraps her arms around his warm strong back and digs her
fingers into the skin, like she’s seen them do on television, and she lets her
slim little hips slam up to pull his finger deeper inside as he buries his
mouth in her neck.  His finger’s a lot smaller than his cock, but she’s so
tight that it’s all she can take right now, and it’s enough to let her
pretend.  She imagines him driving into her, grunting, groaning, that massive
dick gliding smoothly into a cunt that’s finally stretched out enough to hold
it. 
When she comes, she almost screams.  It feels totally different this way, it
takes her completely by surprise, and she’s so startled she holds on tight to
Marcus like she’s going to lose her balance, even though she’s flat on her
back.
He holds her close as she trembles and comes back down to earth, sweaty and
sticky and exhausted, eyes wide and dazed.
“Did that feel good, Princess?” he murmurs into her ear as he curls up beside
her, causing a fierce surge of delight in her chest (he’s going to fall asleep
beside her, he’s going to stay all night).  She nods happily, wriggling into
his arms and nuzzling deep into his chest.
“I love you so much,” she whispers.  “Everything you do feels so good.”
“I’m so glad.”  He kisses the top of her head.  “That’s all I want.”
“Will you help me be ready so we can do it for real?” she asks, looking up at
him, a plea in her eyes.  “I want to so bad.  But I think you were right, I
can’t . . . couldn’t  . . . not yet.”
He smiles and kisses her, switching off the beside lamp.  “I promise,” he tells
her gently.  “I promise, baby.  I want it too.”  He strokes her hair.  “You
turn sixteen in two months,” he reminds her.  “That’s plenty of time.”
She lights up.  “For my birthday?”
“For your birthday,” he promises.  “At the stroke of midnight.  Sixteen is a
big year; I want the very first thing you experience to be me showing you how
much I love you.”
“But I really have to wait two months?”
He chuckles, kissing her hair.  “Don’t worry,” he says lightly.  “There’s so
many other things we can find to fill that time.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” he says, and she closes her eyes, drifting off to sleep in his arms.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Clarke has always been a good student, and she takes this assignment seriously,
like it's a test she has to prepare for and Christmas morning all wrapped up in
one.
Two months until Daddy gives her his birthday present.
Two months to get ready, so she can have the thing she wants most in the whole
world.
They have a lot of work to do, to make sure when the time comes that everything
feels good, like it's supposed to.  She's still too tight, too new at this, to
take anything even a fraction the size of Marcus' cock.  But she's getting
better, she can take little things inside her now - his finger, the cute pink
vibrator - with ease, and is beginning to learn how good it can really feel. 
They fall into a kind of role-play with it, where Marcus makes her call it
“fucking” even though it isn't, really; he just really likes to hear her say
it.  It's not quite a real fuck, but it's almost, it’s as close as they can get
right now, Clarke on her back with her little hands pumping Daddy’s cock while
he thrusts on top of her, sliding the little pink vibrator in and out of her
cunt and grunting with pleasure as he kisses her golden curls.  The almost-ness
of it makes her crazy, it's so close, so very nearly what she wants, but just
far enough away to feel like torture even though it's so yummy too.  But the
pretending turns her on, that big warm body on top of hers, feeling his hips
move up and down like they’ll do when he’s finally inside her.  She goes to a
dazed, dizzy place sometimes when she comes where she can almost, almost
pretend it’s real.  “More, Daddy,” she pleads as he slides the vibrator deeper,
and is rewarded by a stunned gasp of pleasure as her deft little fingers tickle
the little slit at the head of his cock, the spot she likes to tease with her
tongue to make him come.  Sometimes they come so close together, arms wrapped
around each other's backs, lips pressed together, that Clarke feels like she's
beginning to imagine what it will feel like for real, when he comes inside her
cunt instead of her hand, when it's his cock sliding wetly out of her instead
of a slim piece of pink plastic.
Two months feels like forever.
She’s a quick study, and everything he does to her feels good, everything makes
her come, so by the end of the second week it already feels like there’s
nothing they haven’t tried.  They grow bolder, leaving the confines of Clarke's
bed and the shower to experiment in other places.  (Not Mom and Daddy's bed,
he's very stern about that; that's for her birthday only.  But the rest of the
house is fair game, and awakens a delight in playing sexy games of pretend. 
One night Marcus puts on his most stern and serious voice to tell Clarke that
"good little girls eat their daddies before their dinner," and won't let her go
get her plate from the kitchen until she kneels under the dining room table,
unzips his jeans, and devours his cock while he strokes her hair and sips his
glass of wine.  Once he's come in her mouth (not a drop spilled, she's very
proud), he pulls her up to sit on his lap, kissing her rough and hard, and
whispers, "good girl.  Now go eat your dinner, and then you can be my
dessert."  And he's as good as his word; after she's finished her pasta and
washed the dishes, he brings out a bowl of strawberries and cream, Clarke's
favorite, and drops to his own knees beneath the table to slowly, patiently
devour her cunt while she leans back in her chair, swooning in ecstasy, and
eats the whole bowl of strawberries. 
Clarke also learns, almost by accident, about a secret thing Marcus loves to
have done to him, after he tries it on her for the first time.  She's lying on
her stomach, face buried in pillows, as he teases the soft wet lips of her cunt
with the vibrator, but she starts almost violently in shock, cheeks flushing
hot and red, as the slick, wet, buzzing tip glides out of her cunt, between the
smooth white round cheeks of her ass, and begins to caress a spot Clarke never
thought in a million years that people ever touched each other like this. 
She's so embarrassed that he's looking at her there, but Daddy seems to love
it, he can't stop telling her how beautiful her ass is, kissing the swell of
white flesh, so she squints her eyes closed and bites her lip and lets him do
it, and thenoh, oh, oh God, how come no one ever told her about this before? 
It's amazing, she comes so hard she feels a little dizzy, like the bed is
spinning, like she's falling through space.  After that, it gets added to her
list of favorite treats.  And then, a few days later, to his, after her
innocent fingers slide up his thighs to repay the favor while she kneels in
front of him to suck his cock, and he makes a strangled, desperate noise she’s
never heard him make before.  Daddy, it turns out, likes the little pink
vibrator too.
By the end of the first month, she’s outgrown the little vibrator and can take
three whole fingers inside, so Marcus takes her shopping. 
They can't go anyplace where they might run into anybody they know, of course,
so they drive about forty-five minutes to a neighboring town with a super-ritzy
shopping district, the kind of place Clarke's forever begging Mom to buy her
new clothes for school and Mom always laughs and says "no freaking way."  It's
safer than shopping closer to home, but there's still a thrill of danger about
going out in public with him that makes Clarke feel nervous excited butterflies
in the pit of her stomach.
She doesn't have a fake ID, and the store he's taking her to is 18+ only, but
he's confident he can bluff their way in.  He dresses Clarke himself, borrowing
a black wool dress from Mom and a pair of her business lady high heels, which
are a little too big.  He even puts the clothes on her, sucking both her
nipples before he locks them away inside her black bra, and kissing her neck as
he zips her into the dress, which makes her feel like a grownup woman.  Then he
gets dressed too - wearing a crisp black business suit with the black-and-gold
tie Clarke gave him for his birthday last year, which she saved up her
allowance money for and has always been one of his favorites - as Clarke does
her makeup with meticulous care and then pulls her curls back into a sleek
french twist.  They stand side by side, looking at each other in the mirror,
and Clarke swallows hard.  She looks ten years older, and like she belongs with
him.  She could be any pretty young woman with an older lover.  "In France,
we'd blend right in," Marcus remarks.
"Let's go to France for my birthday, then," Clarke says recklessly, which makes
him laugh, and back her up against the bathroom vanity a little bit like he
wants to kiss her, like he can't keep her hands off her, but they don't have
time to redo her makeup all over again, so regretfully, he pulls away and
manages to hold himself back. 
After all, this is a big day.
The store where Raven bought her the little vibrator is downtown, surrounded by
a bunch of bars and with black paper over the windows and a neon sign that
blinks unevenly, and Clarke’s bus goes right past it after school but she’s
never been brave enough to go in.  But the place Marcus takes her too is
nothing like that at all.  It’s all pink and white, with big windows and soft
classical music playing and carpets so deep Clarke’s heels sink into them, and
everything for sale is displayed beautifully, like art (even though it's art
Clarke can't quite bring herself to look directly at, in public, without biting
her lip and blushing.  Every time Marcus reaches out to lift up a particular
toy and examine it, Clarke knows exactly what he's thinking - he's imagining it
inside her cunt, he's thinking about how he'll use it to make her come - and
has to stare down at the floor for a moment or her entire artificial posture
will crumble into hot pink embarrassment.
The sign over the door says "NIYLAH'S" in big swirling rose-gold lettering, so
Clarke assumes the beautiful blonde woman behind the counter is Niylah.  She's
clearly friendly with Marcus, emerging to greet him with a very European kiss
on each cheek that makes Clarke wish she were really as much older and more
sophisticated as she's pretending to be.  Niylah gives Clarke an appraising
look up and down, which makes Clarke feel all shivery; she's so pretty, slender
and petite with a long loose braid draped over her shoulder, and if she didn't
seem so nice it would be mortifying to know that a total stranger knows this
much about what's been going on between her and Marcus.
Marcus holds her hand as they walk through the store, his grip easy and
proprietary at the same time.  It feels strange but delicious to be out in
public with him like this, like she’s his lover, talking to the beautiful store
manager about every most private thing like it’s perfectly ordinary.  “At least
two, I think, in ascending sizes,” he's saying, and Clarke realizes with a
blush she tries to suppress that Marcus and Niylah are having a frank
conversation about what toys he should buy to stretch out her little cunt so
his cock will fit inside her.  They’re discussing silicone texturing and
comparing brands of lubricant like they’re talking about the weather, as Clarke
wanders around the store with wide, dazzled eyes, stroking beautiful, sleek
toys in every shade of pink and purple and white and gold, wondering what
Marcus will bring home to put inside her, wondering what new ways Niylah will
help him find to make her come.
He doesn’t let her see the final purchases – they’re wrapped up in gorgeous
black boxes with pink bows by the time she makes her way to the register – but
he does relent and agree to buy her the pair of fuzzy purple handcuffs she
spots with delight on her way out the door.  But they’re not done for the day
yet, she learns, as he leads her down the block to a posh little jewel box of a
lingerie boutique with all kind of sexy silky things in the window. 
The elegant woman behind this counter doesn't bat an eyelash at them any more
than Niylah did; she looks Clarke up and down with a professional's eye,
assessing her measurements at a glance, then taking her firmly in hand and
steering her from rack to rack, loading her arms with piles of satin and lace. 
And Marcus picks out some things too, adding them to her pile with a silent,
warm look behind the saleslady's back which whispers I want to look at you in
this. This is all secret, too, she’ll have to hide them all from Mom, do the
laundry herself and keep everything someplace Mom won’t think to look. But it's
worth it, to have something so grownup and beautiful to wear when Daddy comes
to her bed.
The dressing rooms are private, curtained off from each other with purple
drapes.  Marcus takes a seat in a plush white velvet armchair facing the
dressing room door, leaning back with his legs crossed, sleek and perfect in
his black suit.  He tells her to pick out everything she feels most beautiful
in, without looking at the price tag, and to come out and show him her
favorites.  The moment she does, they're both extremely glad the dressing rooms
are private; Marcus' cock surges to life in his lap at the sight of Clarke in a
sheer cherry-red negligee, and it only goes downhill from there.  Bras and
panties and nighties and slips and a satin robe, all in a rainbow of frothy
colors.  Marcus uncrosses his legs and spreads them wide, leaning back in the
armchair, as he waits to see each outfit.  Finally, Clarke settles on a pink
and white sheer lace negligee with matching panties (because it makes Marcus
swallow hard and re-cross his legs when she pulls back the dressing room
curtain) and three pairs of bras and panties with lace and silky trim.  Marcus
picks out something else he doesn’t let her see (“your birthday present,” he
tells her when she tries to snatch the bag and peek) and then throws in the
silky little black robe he picked out, too.  It’s so short it hardly covers her
ass, but she can tell he’s thinking about unwrapping her in it like a present,
and then they're both so turned on they can’t quite look at each other until
they’re out of the store and back in the car. 
There's no time to wait until they get back home, they don't even make it out
of the parking lot, pulling into a shady abandoned corner so Clarke can lean
over from the passenger seat and unzip Daddy's pants, her perfect grownup lady
makeup smearing messily as she takes the cock she's been aching for all the way
inside and bobs up and down until he comes hard, pouring salty wetness down her
thirsty little throat.  Then she reclines her seat back and he returns the
favor, hitching up the tight wool skirt of Mom's dress to slide his fingers
inside her soaked cotton panties and curl them perfectly inside her until she
comes with a little scream, hips jerking up off the car seat over and over.
Marcus has a meeting this afternoon, so they can’t test out any of the new
purchases until later that night, and she faithfully promises not to peek in
any of the boxes.  But it isn’t really cheating to play around in the shopping
bag full of silky things, because after all she helped pick them out; so when
he comes home a few hours later, he finds her waiting at the door in a tiny
pair of pale blue silk panties with a lacy matching bra, underneath the black
silk robe. 
“I was going to suggest we eat dinner first,” he says, swallowing hard as he
drops his briefcase and kicks the front door closed, “but I don’t think I can
wait.”
“Dinner after,” Clarke insists, pouting a little.  “I want to see my presents.”
Marcus’ mouth curls up into a sly, delighted grin.
“Bossy little girls get spankings, not treats,” he warns her, lightly smacking
her ass to make her giggle as she races upstairs with him in hot pursuit. 
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     Due to a frankly unbelievable number of requests in the comments,
     Abby shows up in this chapter, and even though there's no full-on
     Clarke/Abby incest, it goes to, like . . . some boundary-crossing
     places. So skip this chapter if that's your squick place. More pure
     Kane/Clarke will return in the next chapter.
     Sorry for the many months of delay and thanks so much for all your
     comments! Hoping to be able to update more regularly soon.
Two weeks later, Mom comes home.
Their lessons have been progressing very well.  Clarke’s graduated from the
tiny plastic vibrator Raven bought her to a dizzying array of far more luxe
toys purchased with care by Marcus, coated in velvety silicon and offering a
range of shapes and sizes.  He bought four dildo-shaped ones (plus a host of
other treats for her ass, nipples and clit) in ascending sizes, and she’s
already moved up from the smallest.  She likes #2 a lot, it has a gentle curve
and it feels like a caress on the inside; it’s thicker than the first one,
stretching her open, and even the little bit of soreness the first time is
delicious because she knows it’s all practice to open up her little cunt to
take Daddy’s cock inside her for real in just under six more weeks.
The lingerie makes everything feel naughtier and more dangerous, too; sometimes
Clarke wears the racy, erotic lace-and-satin things underneath her jeans and
sweater to school, just for the pleasure of coming home in the afternoon and
letting Daddy be surprised when he strips her out of them.  The bras push her
sweet soft little breasts up and in, making them feel fuller, bigger, heavier,
making her feel womanly, letting Daddy nuzzle deep into them and thrust his
tongue hard and hungry into the tight little valley between them as she
whimpers with pleasure and fists his hair.
Everything – the toys, the clothes, the fuzzy purple handcuffs she likes him to
use when they play pretend – lives in a box under Clarke’s bed, and they’re
vigilant about not leaving anything out around the house, even by accident.
 The cleaning lady comes every other week, and from time to time Clarke has
school friends over to study (or, in Raven’s case, to make out on the couch),
and the thought of anyone finding the box of vibrators is mortifying.
But it’s Mom she’s worried about the most.
She’s been gone for weeks and weeks, and she’s only got about a two-week break
to come back home before she has to leave again, and both Clarke and Marcus
miss her desperately.  But Clarke’s scared, too.  Will Mom be able to see it on
her face?  Will she yell, or cry?  Will she feel betrayed, or jealous, or angry
when she finds out?  Will it change her relationship with Marcus?  Has Clarke
ruined their marriage?
It's easy to hide from these fears with Marcus’ lips wrapped around her clit,
his beard tickling the soft wet folds of her labia as he glides a lube-slicked
vibrator in and out of her cunt.  It’s easy not to think about Mom when she’s
on her knees in front of the sofa, a warm, pulsing dick in her mouth and a pair
of tender, affectionate hands in her hair, savoring that low grunting sound she
loves so much.  It’s easy not to think about Mom then.
But then she comes back, and there’s nowhere to hide.
Clarke’s first fear is assuaged almost immediately.  She skips volleyball
practice to head home right after school, and takes a cab instead of the bus,
so she’s nearly three hours earlier than they were expecting her . . . a fact
which becomes increasingly clear the second she steps inside.
They didn’t even make it up the stairs to their bedroom.  The sounds are coming
from the kitchen.
Clarke closes the door behind her in silence, heart pounding, face hot red and
flushed.  She hasn’t felt this exact rush of sensations – panic, horror,
arousal, curiosity, mortification – since that very first night when she walked
in on them, too young to even know what she was seeing then.  But of course
there’s no mystery to it now.  Now she’s been initiated.  She’s made these
sounds for him too.
She knows what she needs to do.  She needs to leave, wait until they’re
finished, and come back home at the appropriate time, opening the door with a
lot of noise so they hear her and have time to prepare, so no one’s
embarrassed.
She knows she should.
But she can’t.
Her hands are shaking and her stomach is churning and she feels a little sick,
even as she can feel wetness pooling between her thighs.  This time, she
doesn’t have the excuse of being a little girl wandering the halls to explore a
curious sound.  This time she has to admit the dirty, humiliating, shameful
truth:
She wants to see it.
Silently, she steps out of her shoes and sets down her bag inside the front
door, closing it soundlessly behind her.  The grunting noises don’t flag even
for a moment.  They haven’t heard her.  She pads on bare quiet feet down the
hall until the kitchen doorway comes into view, pressing her body against the
wall to avoid being seen.  She comes at them from an angle, and freezes in her
tracks at the sight in front of her.
Marcus is standing with his back pressed against the kitchen counter, hands
gripping the sides, head flung back.  His eyes are closed, and he’s groaning
heavily with pleasure.
Mom is on her knees on the kitchen floor, her back almost completely to Clarke,
and she’s giving him a blowjob.
A really, really good one.
Clarke swallows hard, licking her lips almost involuntarily. She can almost
taste him.  Mom’s wet, hungry, suckling noises are achingly familiar.
Beneath the twisty tangle of sensations in her gut, Clarke detects something
like pure, ecstatic relief.
She hasn’t ruined anything.
Marcus is utterly blissed out, hips rocking into Mom’s mouth, a smile tugging
at his lips, murmuring her name in the same tones he uses for Clarke, stroking
Mom’s soft thick hair with his big hands.  So content.  So in love with her.
 Clarke can only see a slice of Mom’s profile, but she can tell Mom’s smiling,
looking up at Marcus as her lips suck hard at the head of his cock, hands
expertly gliding up and down the shaft.  She knows all kinds of tricks Clarke’s
never seen before, she does a thing where she kind of rotates her wrists as she
strokes him, in opposite directions, instead of just going straight up and
down.  And when she takes him deep (she can take him all the way, Clarke
notices with admiration), her fingers reach back to stroke him in that patch of
sensitive skin behind his balls, which makes his whole body shudder.
Clarke is terrified from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes that
they’ll open their eyes and turn and see her and she’ll die of humiliation.
 But she can’t move.  Everything about this is wrong – it feels, somehow, so
much more wicked to watch Mom suck Marcus’ dick than even doing it herself –
but she can’t look away.
You’re not supposed to think about your parents doing this stuff.  You’re
definitely not supposed to  watch  it.
But Clarke’s panties are absolutely soaked, and she’s biting her lip to keep
from moaning right along with them.  It’s shockingly erotic to watch Marcus
like this, to just stand a distance while he’s being fucked and to take him in.
 And there’s something wrong and dirty and delicious in watching Mom do the
thing she does, and wondering if it feels different to Marcus.
Then the unthinkable happens.  Marcus, his whole body rocking forward in a
bone-deep shudder as Mom wraps her lips around the base of his shaft, devouring
his whole dick at once, opens his eyes.
He sees her.
They both freeze, staring at each other, and Clarke feels like a kid again,
ashamed and humiliated and terrified she’s about to be in trouble.  She’s
frantically willing her feet to move, to bolt, to run out of the house, when he
does the thing he does next.
“Stay right there,” he murmurs, ostensibly to Mom but really to Clarke, as his
hands tangle in Mom’s hair to hold her firmly in place on his cock.  “That’s
perfect, baby.  Don’t move.  Right there.”  His hands cup Mom’s temples, and
Clarke realizes that he’s blocking her peripheral vision even as he holds her
in place; even if Mom opened her eyes right now (she pressed them closed when
she opened up her mouth to deep-throat him), she wouldn’t see Clarke standing
in the hallway behind her.
Then he smiles at Clarke, and gives the tiniest, most imperceptible nod.
He’s inviting her closer.
She bites her lip, hesitating, but he smiles again, nodding his head.  The
meaning is unmistakable.  He isn’t angry, isn’t judging her, isn’t embarrassed.
 His eyes drift down from Clarke’s own to stare meaningfully at her skirt, and
she swallows hard, but follows his silent command, her fingers drifting
silently beneath the cotton waistband and into her soaked lace panties.  He
nods, pleased, and removes a hand from Mom’s hair just long enough to blow
Clarke a kiss.  “That’s good,” he murmurs, as Clarke’s fingers move against her
clit, not fifteen feet behind her mother’s back.  “Mmmm.  Yes.  God, that’s so
good.”
When they shift position, he does it so masterfully that Mom’s head never
changes angle, keeping Clarke hidden in the hallway shadows.  He keeps his
hands cupped around her face, pulling her gently off his cock and up to his
mouth where he seizes her in a kiss so wild, so ferocious, that she closes her
eyes and dissolves into him as he tugs open the sash of her wrap dress and
pulls aside her panties.  Clarke feels heat sweep over her whole body, fingers
moving faster and faster on her clit, that churning sensation of mortified
arousal twisting deeper and deeper in her gut, as Marcus slides one hand down
to cup Mom’s ass and lift her thigh around his hips, leaning her back against
the kitchen island, and then with one smooth push he’s inside her.
It's easy for him to keep Mom from spotting Clarke, after that.  He kisses her
a lot, or sometimes wraps her up so tight in his arms that she can’t do
anything but nuzzle into his chest and kiss his neck, the way Clarke likes to
do, lips moving hungrily over that spot below his ear he likes the best.  Mom’s
noises make Clarke feel strange all over, just like they did the first time,
like her body knows she’s not supposed to be watching this or even hearing it;
but she can’t tear her eyes away from watching Marcus fuck, watching Mom
receive with easy pleasure the gift he’s been practicing for weeks to be able
to give her, gazing with envy at how smoothly he plunges straight inside her
with no resistance at all.  He must have gone down on her first, Clarke thinks,
cheeks flushing hot red.  Mom must be wet already, or she wouldn’t be this
comfortable taking him in all at once.
She can’t stop the picture of it . . . Marcus on his knees, worshiping Mom’s
cunt the way he does Clarke’s, nuzzling at it, licking, sucking, making those
happy wet grunting pleasure noises like he can’t get enough of the taste . . .
She comes silently with a full-body shudder as Marcus watches her, eyes warm
and hungry on hers.  But “Don’t stop,” he mouths to her, over her mother’s
shoulder, when he sees her hesitate and begin to withdraw her hand.  “Stay.”
No sound comes out, Mom doesn’t see it, but Clarke understands.
The fucking begins to accelerate, and Mom’s little gasps become sharp,
desperate cries. She wraps both her arms around his neck, hitching her thigh
higher to take more, more, more.  Mom’s beautiful, she’s always been beautiful,
but Clarke’s never seen her as somebody sexy; nobody sees their mom that way,
probably.  But she looks like a porn star now, practically, her dress halfway
off her shoulder, black lace bra strap slipping down, hair wild and messy, as
her leg wraps around Marcus’ hip and she practically screams with pleasure.
 When she comes, Clarke feels herself come again, with a sick little knot of
guilt in her stomach.
“Oh God, I missed this,” Mom laughs weakly into Marcus’ chest, whole body
trembling.  “God, you feel so good.”
Marcus holds her close, slows down his pace, thrusting slow and smooth and
deep, stroking her hair with impossible tenderness.  Then he says something
that’s almost more shocking to Clarke than anything that’s happened so far.
“Oh yeah?” he laughs, teasingly.  “Roan falling down on the job over there, is
he?”
Mom laughs.  “He gets the job done,” she chuckles, “but he’s not you.”
“I’m flattered.”
“He says hi, by the way.”
“Tell him I said hi back.  I’m glad he’s – oh, right there, baby, stay right
there on me, that’s it – I’m glad he’s taking good care of you.”
Mom looks up at him, cupping his face in her hands.  “Has anyone been taking
care of you?” she asks, voice gentle, no judgment, and Marcus very very
carefully doesn’t take his eyes away from hers, doesn’t even flick so much as a
glance up at Clarke.  He gives a faint nod that makes Clarke feel sick with
panic.  But Mom doesn’t flinch, her expression doesn’t even changed.  “Are you
. . . like we talked about?”  He nods again.  “And it’s going okay?”  He nods
again.
Clarke thinks she might throw up, or faint, or crumble into a hundred thousand
million tiny pieces.
Mom knows.  Mom knows.  Mom knows.   Mom has some other man half a world away
with her that shares her bed sometimes, while Marcus is here, while Marcus is
here buying vibrators for Clarke, and  Mom knows,  and Clarke wants to die.
And then Mom smiles.
She pulls Marcus’ face down to hers, kisses him tenderly, and cups his face in
her hands.  “You’re taking good care of her?” she asks gently, and he nods.
“I promised you I would,” he murmurs.
“That’s all I need to hear,” she says, and kisses him again.  “Now come inside
me, baby.  I can feel how bad you need to.  Come inside me.”
Marcus wraps Mom in his arms, and for the first time he appears to have
forgotten Clarke’s there.  He kisses the top of her head.  “I love you so damn
much, Abby,” he whispers.  “I love you both so much.”
Then he comes with a low, desperate cry, deep inside her, and shudders to a
halt, collapsing into her shoulder.  Clarke comes a third time, silent,
shaking, overwhelmed, then flees back down the hallway in total silence before
either of her parents has recovered.
Half an hour later, when she knocks loudly at the door, Mom answers it, pink-
cheeked and relaxed and happy, and pulls her daughter into her arms.
“Oh, my baby,” she murmurs, voice aching with love and happiness, “I’ve missed
you so much.”
And Clarke can’t explain it, but something inside her shatters open, something
like a weight of miserable guilt being lifted completely, and bursts into
tears.
“I missed you too, Mom,” she whispers, sniffling wetly against the now-neatly-
retied bodice of Mom’s wrap dress.  “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” Mom says back, kissing her head over and over again.  “I love
you too.”
===============================================================================
 
Dinner is easy and comfortable, despite the big thing they all know that none
of them are saying; it’s just so nice to be a family all together again.  Mom’s
full of stories and in a really good mood (for obvious reasons; the image of
her arching her back against the kitchen counter to come on Marcus’ cock pops
into Clarke’s mind occasionally and makes her fight back a blush).
Clarke’s not sure how this is all going to work now, for the next two weeks
while Mom’s home, and she’s not sure how to bring it up because there isn’t a
single moment to get Marcus alone; and even if there was, what would she ask?
 How would she even start the conversation?
They eat pizza and watch TV together on the couch, both Clarke and Mom curled
up against Marcus’ shoulders.  It’s surprising to Clarke that her feelings for
Marcus can be so dirty and so innocent at the same time; yes, her whole body is
aching for the day to finally come when he can really fuck her, but that
doesn’t take away from how nice it feels to snuggle up against him in her
pajamas next to Mom so they can all drink tea and watch cooking shows.
Finally, Mom yawns, stretches, and announces that she’s still jet-lagged and
it’s time for bed, even though it’s only nine-thirty.  But she leaves Clarke
the remote and tells her she can stay up until eleven if she wants, since it’s
Friday and she doesn’t have to do homework tonight.  Then she kisses Clarke on
the head, and leads Marcus upstairs to bed.
Clarke’s not really tired, and she would have liked the chance to talk to
Marcus, but there was no way to ask him to stay, after he’d kissed her
goodnight too and headed upstairs with Mom.  She lingers a little while,
flipping through the channels.  Maybe he’ll realize he forgot something and
come back downstairs, and then she can ask him what happens now.
She knows what the answer will probably be – she knows they can’t, with Mom in
the house – but her heart gives a hopeful little flutter with every creak of
the floorboards upstairs, wondering if he’s coming down to see her one last
time before bed.  Just a kiss would be enough.  Just to remind herself that
she’s still his baby girl, that he loves them both, that no one is replacing
anyone.  She knows this, but she wouldn’t mind some reassurance anyway.
But Marcus doesn’t come back.  And it’s about half an hour later, as she’s
flipping through the TV channels and hits “mute” by mistake, that she realizes
why.
“Oh fuck, Abby,” she hears his distant, muffled grunt from upstairs, and
shivers run down her spine.
They think she can’t hear them because she has the television on, so they’re
not bothering to keep it down as much as they usually might.
Clarke turns the television back on, and clicks the volume up a few notches.
Not enough to annoy them, but enough that they can definitely hear it from
their room.  Then she sets down the remote and tiptoes noiselessly up the
stairs.
They’ve closed the door all but a crack, which leaves her with two choices: go
to her room, where all her toys are, and listen in, or try to sneak a peek
through the slit in the open door to see what she can see?
No, she can’t risk the door, she decides.  There’s no way to know which way
they’re facing; Mom could see her, and she wouldn’t even have the excuse she’d
had earlier today, where she could claim she’d walked in on them by mistake.
She enters her room silently and undresses without a sound, pulling one of the
medium-sized dildos out from the box under her bed and climbing under the
covers with it.  The gasping and grunting hasn’t ceased, or even paused, so she
knows they haven’t heard her.  Slipping the dildo between her thighs, she’s
shocked to realize how wet she is already; the smooth round silicon tip slides
in with no resistance, and she bites her lip to keep from moaning.  She closes
her eyes in the dark and listens as hard as she can.
She can hear the slap of flesh on flesh.  It’s rough and hard and fast,
whatever they’re doing, and they’re enjoying themselves a lot.  From the
muffled sounds of her gasps, Clarke wonders if Mom’s on her stomach, with Daddy
blanketing her small body and fucking her from behind.  She’s only ever had one
picture of it in her mind, all her life, she’s only ever imagined it the way
she saw it that first time when she was small, Mom on his lap as he sat up
against the headboard.  But she knows so much more now, she know that there are
a hundred thousand different ways Marcus likes it, and he probably does them
all with Mom.
And soon he’ll teach them all to her.
“Oh God, honey, right there,” Mom gasps breathlessly, followed by a muffled,
trembling cry as she buries her face in the pillow (Clarke thinks) and comes
hard.  Clarke feels that now-familiar twist of sick delicious guilt in her
belly that she always gets from listening to Mom, and tries to stop herself
from coming too, at the exact same moment, but it’s too late.  She was already
teetering over the edge, and even pulling the dildo out doesn’t stop it.  She
clenches her teeth and her fist to avoid crying out, then sinks back heavily
onto the pillows and lightly strokes the tip of the dildo over her clit and
labia while she listens to the sound of Marcus approaching his own orgasm.  He
comes with a low, animal groan, and Clarke rubs harder and harder at her clit,
shaking, shivering as his sound reverberates in her mind, imagining him making
that sound as he pours out into her, imagining that big warm sweaty male weight
collapsing heavily onto her soft little sixteen-year-old body as he shudders
and trembles in her arms, imagining herself holding him and stroking his hair
as he goes soft inside her and catches his breath.  She’s watched him come so
many times, in her hands, in her mouth, all over her skin, and it’s sometimes
almost close enough to feel nearly real when he holds himself above her so she
can stroke his cock while he fucks her with a vibrator, but she’s still never
gotten to hold him the way Mom does, and she wants it so bad.
She listens to him gasp and shudder and pant as the waves crest over him,
rubbing the tip of the dildo over her sensitive clit.  She’s lost in her own
imagination, eyes pressed closed, pretending it’s his cock, pretending he’s
there, pretending that huge sweet heavy dick is nudging open the folds of her
labia, circling her clit, nudging at it, gliding down lower and lower, so he
can –
“Shhhhh,” she hears him murmur in her ear, clamping one hand over her mouth so
she doesn’t cry out, and as her eyes fly open she realizes she isn’t dreaming.
“Marcus,” she whispers, and he leans down to kiss her.  Her mouth opens beneath
his desperately, hungrily, aching for him, hands tangling in his hair as he
sinks down to his knees at the side of her bed.  He’s naked, his cock soft and
glistening wet, body sheened in sweat, hair mussed from sex.  Just the sight of
him makes her cunt ache.  She pulls away only reluctantly, to catch her breath,
but doesn’t let go of him.  “I don’t want to get you in trouble,” she says
softly, but he shakes his head, smiling.
“Mom was traveling for eighteen hours and hasn’t slept in a day and a half,” he
murmurs.  “She crashed hard.”
“I left the TV on.”
“I’ll go turn it off,” he says, kissing her forehead.  “You keep doing what you
were doing, and I’ll be right back.”
She sinks back against the pillows, tracing little circles around her clit with
the tip of the vibrator, and a few moments later he’s back, closing her door
softly behind him and returning to the bed.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” she whispers, sitting up to look at him.  “I
thought we would have to wait the whole time.”
“I would never leave you all alone like that,” he tells her.  “I missed you
today, baby girl.”
As he approaches the side of her bed, she sits up all the way and swings her
legs over so she’s sitting on the edge, and before he can stop her she’s taken
the soft, spent cock in her mouth and begun to lick it clean.
“Clarke,” he murmurs, shock in his voice, “Clarke, no, that’s, you don’t want
to –“
But she does want to.  She’s on fire with curiosity.  She wants to catalog
every way that Mom and her are different.  She doesn’t know why it’s so
important, but it is.
She’s tasted herself before; sometimes Daddy likes to watch her lick off her
own fingers after he makes her come.  Mom tastes the same, but different.
 Clarke can’t quite describe it.  More . . . tart, maybe? It’s hard to put it
in words.  Her tongue bathes his heavy, soft dick with wetness, and even though
he just came, hard, inside Mom, Clarke can feel it twitch ever so slightly in
her mouth and hands.  He’s wincing, desperately sensitive, like her gentle
licks almost pain him, but his eyes are wide and dazed and she knows he doesn’t
want her to stop.
When she’s kissed him completely clean, he pulls her up to her feet and devours
her lips with his own, like he’s trying to pull the taste of Mom back out of
her with his own tongue, and she opens up all the way and lets him take
everything he wants, moaning happily into his open mouth as he takes her in his
arms and lays her back down on the bed.
“I wish it was time already,” she whispers as his big, warm body blankets hers
and he leans down to nuzzle shivery, ticklish kisses into her neck.  “I wish it
was my birthday now.”
“Soon, baby girl.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Yes, you can.”
She pouts a little at this, and he chuckles.  “I promise it will be worth it,”
he murmurs, kissing his way down between her breasts.  “I have lots of plans.”
Clarke sighs happily at this, picturing herself in that big white bed, moaning
and gasping and riding him.  Just like Mom likes it.  She knows already that
she’ll like it that way too.  
“You’re so wet,” he says in a low voice of surprise, as he gently pulls her
labia apart to gaze at her clit.  
“I was listening.”
“I know.”  He gives her cunt a long, slow lick up the center, gathering up her
sticky wetness with his tongue.  She wriggles impatiently, greedy for more, but
he pulls away, pressing teasing little kisses against her thigh.
 “Eavesdropping on Mommy and Daddy,” he remarks wryly.  “Bad girl.”
“Daddy, please . . .” she whimpers, and he chuckles again.  She can tell he’s
planning to torture her.  His big hands keep her slim white thighs spread and
immobile, so she can’t lift her hips up further into his mouth.  His tongue
slides through her folds lazily, unbearably slow, and she feels itchy and
desperate and impatient, crawling out of her own skin, desperate for him to
give her what she wants but knowing he won’t until he’s good and ready.  His
tongue flicks and teases, stirring her close to the beginning of an orgasm and
then pulling away until it ebbs away again.  She grips his hair, tugs at it
over and over, pleading, but he doesn’t even seem to feel it, just keeps lazily
swirling his tongue in circles around her clit.  
It goes on for so long she loses track of time.  “Please,” she moans, “please,
please, please,” she whispers it so many times she loses count, until finally
in one smooth motion - so fast she doesn’t even see it coming - he’s taken the
vibrator she was using and plunged it all the way inside her, shifting his
weight so his body can blanket hers again, rocking above her as though they’re
really fucking, and it feels so good she can’t even form words anymore.
“You’ve been waiting for this all day, haven’t you, baby?” he murmurs in her
ear, and she nods, biting her lip, squirming to take him deeper.  “Waiting for
Daddy to fuck you like he fucked Mommy.”
“Yes,” she gasps.  “Yes.”
“I promise you,” he tells her, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead as he
plunges the vibrator in and out of her now-soaked cunt, “I wish I was fucking
you right now as much as you do.”
“Tell me,” she breathes, “I like it when you say it.”
He reaches up with his other hand and cradles her cheek, brushing a loose
strand of hair out of her face.  “I want to fuck you,” he pants, and Clarke can
feel his cock stirring to life against her thigh.  She wraps one arm around his
back and slides the other one down to take hold of his cock.  “I want to fuck
you, baby.”
“It’s not enough, like this,” she gasps as he twists the smooth silicon inside
her and taps against her G-spot.  “It’s so good, everything feels so good, but
I want more.”
“Just a little while longer.”
“I want to make you come,” she whispers, gliding her thumb over the tip of his
cock the way she knows he likes, feeling his whole body flinch at her delicate
touch.  “Can I make you come?  Has it been enough time?”
“You make me so hard,” he murmurs into her neck, “I love the way you touch me,
I love the way you make me feel . . . you make me ready so fast . . .”
“I’m so close,” she tells him, “slow down so I can catch up.”
“Clarke . . . “
“I want to come with you, Daddy,” she pouts, tilting her chin up to drop a
light kiss on his lips, and he can’t resist her after that.  So he slows his
movements down to deep, firm, purposeful strokes, driving the vibrator in and
out, in and out, as she tugs at his cock until she finally feels it swell to
hardness in her hand.  
“You could fuck me a little,” she says, voice edged with pleading.  “I wouldn’t
tell.”
He shakes his head, breath coming in low, deep gasps.  “No, baby girl,” he
chides her, “I already told you.  You can wait a few more weeks.”
She lets go of his cock.  “Mean,” she whispers, her tone both teasing and
pouting at the same time.  He chuckles.
“Come on, baby,” he cajoles her.  “Make Daddy come.”
“No.”
He kisses her neck, light and ticklish, eliciting the ghost of a small giggle.
“Please.”
“No.”
“Clarke -”
“Just a  little,”  she whines, eyes big and pleading.  “Just for a minute.”
“Baby, we can’t.”
But she’s very, very good at sad puppy eyes, and she usually gets what she
wants, and she knows it’s torture for him too; so finally, as though he can’t
help himself, he withdraws the vibrator and gently, carefully, runs the very
tip of his cock in a slow line up and down the seam of Clarke’s cunt.  He
doesn’t push inside, doesn’t go anywhere near her entrance, just nudges her
soft rosy labia apart and pets the damp, pink flesh with the swollen purple
head until neither of them can bear it anymore.  They’ve stopped kissing, and
are simply staring at each other, eyes wide, panting for breath, both of them
imagining what would happen if he threw caution to the wind and just pushed
right into her now the way their bodies so clearly want.
“Soon,” he whispers raggedly.  “Soon.”
Then, with great reluctance, he pulls his cock away, and slides the vibrator
back in.  Rougher this time, with great force.  She swoons back onto the
pillows, faint with pleasure, reaching out a fumbling small hand to find his
cock again and grip it tightly, sliding the juices of her cunt up and down the
shaft to jerk him harder and harder.
She comes first, biting her lip to keep from screaming and waking up mom,
fisting the covers with her one free hand, hips lifting and lifting and
lifting, but her other hand doesn’t stop until he’s striped the creamy rose-
flushed skin of her belly with white, and then collapsed in a sticky, sweaty
heap on top of her.
He gives himself the luxury of lingering there with her for a little while,
limbs tangled together, listening to each other breathe, until he finally
forces himself to get up for a washcloth to clean them both up, removing all
traces of the night from their bodies.
“When we do it for real,” Clarke whispers, taking his hand as he kisses her
goodbye and gets up to leave, “can I stay the night with you?”
“Of course,” he murmurs back.  “Of course.”
“I’m counting down the days.”
“I know.”
Then he closes the door behind her, and a moment later she hears the creak of
the mattress in the other room, and a rustling and shifting, and soon he’s
dozed off, snoring lightly, and Clarke knows Mom is wrapped up tight in his
arms.
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