The Truth About Bethie The First Part Chapters
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This is a story about William and Bethie Conlin, a father and daughter, whose love for one another over the past few years has taken on an erotic undertone. They have been careful to maintain their devotion to one another as father and daughter, but now find themselves struggling with ever-stronger forbidden impulses as they share an unexpected Sunday alone.
This story is related to the Loving Lizvette series, but involves only Daddy and Bethie. The action takes place immediately following the events told in "Having Lizvette." It is told in 12 scenes which comprise the First Part. The Second Part will follow at a later date and will occur after the events told in the story, "Polly Gamey."
This is a work of fiction. All rights are reserved by the author. No copying to any other site including sex stories dot com is permitted.
. . . . .
The Truth About Bethie (First Part)
1. Bethie in my arms
Bethie and I both remember that Sunday often, and fondly. Despite all that happened that weekend - the weekend Lizvette stepped into my life only to dash out of it again with a promise to return - between Lizvette and me, and between Bethie and me, one memory, a mental picture, lingers as a fitting illustration of it all. It happened when I awakened Sunday evening to the lush violins of the endlessly melodic music for the film, "Malena" while in my hands I felt the soft warmth of my daughter's body. The voluptuous melody matched the curves of my precious Bethie as she snuggled against me, with her head on my shoulder and her thigh d****d across my lap. Just as Saturday had been filled with Lizvette, Sunday was filled with Bethie, and the blessed comfort she gave to me. Certainly my behavior with Lizvette was not looked upon favorably from above, but the peace my beautiful daughter gave me and the intimacy we shared that day was a balm to my soul, and only fate could have allowed it.
In those first few moments after waking, uncertain of the time of day or whether Bethie were asleep too, I didn't know if I were dreaming, or if I truly held my naked daughter naked in my arms. "You're awake." Her quiet voice brought me around to find I was not dreaming, and she was not entirely naked. "That was a good movie." I looked at the screen a few feet from the sofa where we cuddled and saw the end credits scrolling. Bethie asked, "So she never knew the boy loved her?" My left hand was down the back of her boxers, holding her warm bottom. She was naked only to my hands.
"No, angel. I don't think she ever knew." My middle finger rested in the crevice between her cheeks. "He never told her. I doubt he knew how." My right hand was under her tank top, across her breast and resting warmly beneath her armpit. "I don't think they ever actually spoke to one another at all." Her knee was pressing heavily on my cock, and my cock, beneath the pajama pants I wore, was stiffening again for her, flexing against the pressure of her weight. We were covered with the light fleece blanket we kept folded on top of the sofa. Outside a soft rain fell as the last of the sunlight faded. Bethie's heart beat low and steady. Her breath on my neck was warm and sweet and reassuring, reminding me with a subtle tickle that all was, and would be, well.
"I bet you were just like him when you were a boy. Always in love." I heard the smile in her voice.
"Yes, I suppose I was, baby." I reached for the wine glass on the table before us and took a sip to refresh my senses. "But I would have gone to her and told her I loved her. Maybe written her a poem. Risked it. Girls didn't always want to hear that stuff from me."
"But they did when you got older," Bethie encouraged. "That's why you got married late, I bet. Happy bachelor."
"Well it wasn't all la dolce vita, baby. But it was fun." I was older than her friends fathers and she often wondered why I hadn't married sooner. I hadn't felt a need for a wife in my twenties, but when I turned 30 and met Lois, twelve years my junior and looking even younger, I decided I wanted to be a Daddy. "And I wanted you to be born before I got too old to have fun with you." I squeezed her close.
"Aww." She kissed my neck softly. "You were a romantic at my age, Daddy. But you grew up in an unromantic time." She put her hand on my cheek. "It isn't any better now. We were born too late." She kissed my cheek. "You should have been one of those 18th century poets." She, like the girls of my youth, sometimes found my romantic side a little too much, but she always seemed to tolerate it, at times even to cater to it, as she was doing then, as she had done all day.
A message vibrated on her phone, which lay behind her on the sofa. "Is your movie over yet???" a friend was asking impatiently. It was not Lizvette. I saw that much before it vanished. She ignored it. "Now I'm sleepy," she said. "And you're going to be awake all night. I shouldn't have let you nap so long."
It had been an eventful Sunday for us, a turning point in our love. As she had promised me the night before, when she came to me in my den to thank me for giving up our planned day alone so that she could have a friend over, she made it a special one. We thought the night before that we might only have time enough for her to make breakfast for me then pose for a few photos before Lois returned from her trip. That's when fate intervened, and the same storm that took Lizvette away so suddenly also kept Lois from returning, and made possible this day alone with Bethie, time I needed desperately, and though I did not know it, time she needed with me.
Lois had texted that morning, not long after Bethie left to rush Lizvette home, "Not driving in this storm. Will stay another night. Love you." My relief began there and I determined that any worrying that might need to be done about Lizvette, and all the guilt and the risks that came after sex with a fifteen year old girl, could wait. I would spend the day with my daughter, and focus only on her. The storm had been a reprieve, almost stopping time itself, to allow me precious hours alone with my Bethie, to adore her and take pleasure in her. That is why the memory lingers, of waking during a rainy sunset with her body in my arms. I have no photograph of that moment, but it is my favorite image of the two of us, a perfect portrait of our own secret love, and all of it's meaning, and a fitting end to our loving day together. She would not leave my arms until sunrise.
. . . . .
2. That morning
While I slept that morning, drifting in and out of various stages of consciousness, Bethie tidied the living room, put away the bedding she and Lizvette had slept in, did some homework, then knocked on my bedroom door a little before noon. "Daddy? Are you still sleeping? Are you hungry?"
"Come in, angel." She wore a yellow tank top and a pair of my old silk boxers, black but faded. The worn elastic band d****d prettily across her hip bones. She sat beside me as I lay in bed.
"You had too much wine, didn't you?" I probably had, but I was so filled with adrenaline and endorphins I had no noticeable hangover. I remember I wanted only two things. Quiet time to think of Lizvette, and intimacy with my beautiful loving daughter. Whenever we were alone, Bethie took our intimacy to new limits, new depths, breaking old boundaries and setting new ones where we would settle in and take pleasure in each other, pleasure that only we could possibly give to one another, because no other girl is my daughter, and no other man her father.
I informed her that her mother would not be back till tomorrow morning. She smiled, raised an eyebrow and said, "I know, Daddy." I put my arms around her waist and pulled her closer.
"You haven't cooked for me in a while. I'd love some of your fried chicken. With mashed potatoes and that asparagus and peas casserole you make."
"No breakfast? I was hoping to try making an omelette for you." She leaned across me and rested on her elbow.
"Next time, baby. I think I need something with more substance right now." I reached below the worn elastic waistband of the old boxers she wore and patted her smooth, warm bottom.
"I'll spoil you today, Daddy." She kissed my nose. "Let's eat, then I want you to take some new pictures of us. Then we'll snuggle up and watch TV." I gave her bottom a lasting squeeze, and took a lover's delight in her youthful, supple, firmness. She allowed my hand to squeeze a little longer before she rose and said. "But you will be a better snuggle buddy after a shower and brush, stinky man."
She probably sensed I needed such a day, to be spolied by her. Bethie's intuition about my emotional state was always very accurate, and I was in a chaotic emotional state that morning, only hours since I made love to her friend Lizvette while Bethie slept. Feelings of sexual, romantic love for Lizvette were clashing with feelings of guilt at the betrayal of my wife Lois, and every bit as important, betrayal of Bethie herself. If I should be found out, if Lizvette should let our secret slip, I would surely hear my wife tearfully reacting, "A 15 year old c***d? How could you? You not only betray me, but you risk prison to do it?" And Bethie. "Daddy don't you get it? You're not in love with her. She's just a substitute for me. Why didn't you just do it to me? If you needed it that bad I would have let you."
That idea was not simply my erotic imagination. Bethie had become a sort of stand-in for Lois in some ways. She did not compete with her, but she seemed ready and able to step in to playing parts of Lois's role that Lois gradually left behind as our marriage matured. Bethie was not blind to it. She didn't want to replace her mother, of course, but she had become more attentive to me as Lois found new distractions in her church volunteer work, her charitable activities, and in spending time with her girlfriends. Lois had been a young bride, a young mother, and I was aware that she had missed out on things other young women her age took part in. When Lois would busy herself with other things, Bethie happily stepped in to be my cook, my laundress, my tie-straightener, my caregiver in times of illness, my playmate in times of leisure.
"What did I do to deserve you? I asked her as I cupped her cheek in my palm.
"You spoil me enough. I can make a sacrifice for you now and then."
"I could spoil you more. You're the perfect daughter. For me."
"That's very true, Daddy darling. You should buy me a Mustang. Not many girls would put up with you, you know." She kissed me before rising and I watched her as she walked to the bedroom door, tucking the silk of her shorts under the waistband, like a curtain rising to reveal a work of art. "Meet me downstairs," she said at the door. "And be hungry."
. . . . .
3. Giving in
I showered with an erection that begged to be stroked, an erection for Bethie, for Lizvette, from being in love, and from needing to express it, to each of them. I was filled to overflowing with erotic love for them, wanting them each in turn. I needed to cum, but felt doing so would have been almost a betrayal of Lizvette. I needed to cum for her. In her. Because of her. Just as I had last night, as I forced her little body to stay impaled on me, even as she tried to free herself as my orgasm became obvious. And didn't a fleeting thought of Bethie cross my mind as I did that to Lizvette? Something I could never allow myself to do with my own little girl. Not even if she asked me to. And she would never ask me to. And if she did, what would my answer be? I imagined my daughter, straddling me with my cock deep inside her, watching me approach orgasm and saying to me, "Cum in me, Daddy." Would I? I didn't know the answer, but the question put Lizvette out of my mind, for the moment, as I gave in again to thoughts of my daughter.
I lathered my shaft and allowed myself a few strokes to keep it up and arched, and struck again the pose I dreamed of striking for my daughter's eyes, with my feet apart, one fist on my hip, one hand on her imaginary head before me, caressing her hair, her face, with my hips thrust forward, my cock waiting for her kiss, my balls hanging low waiting for her to cup them in her hand. She had never seen my bare cock, let alone witnessed me having a full orgasm for her, with cum erupting from me in thick shots before her eyes. That day could never come, I believed, but for now, it was satisfying enough, meaningful enough, for her to see me aroused by her, and for her to know what her beauty and her touch did to me. I could not cum, I decided. I wanted to stay hungry for her, and I wanted her to know it.
Until she asked me for more, our kisses, my loving hands down the back of her shorts, our embraces, and her body pressed firmly against my cock, feeling the rock hard reassurance of her beauty, her posing for my camera - knowing all the while what I do with her pictures - this was the depth and breadth of our secret life together. It was the most beautiful part of my life, and I believed of hers, too. It was just enough to sustain us. Any more would make of her something other than my daughter, and make me perhaps something less than her father. As I rinsed and dried and dressed, I held my erection for her knowing it was the symbol of our love, so unique, so deep and so very much our own. It told her she was the beauty in my life, and that just as I was her first love, she was my deepest. She must, I knew, always believe that. Just as she had moments before promised she would spoil me, I promised myself that I would focus on her that day, and not simply with my camera. I would leave in no room in her mind for doubting that she was the beautiful, calming center of my world.
I dressed in a dark green tee, one I knew Bethie loved for the little discolored spot a few inches above the bottom hem, a spot Lois believed was spilled bleach but about which Bethie knew the truth. It was a spot that appeared after she had been sitting in my lap, one night a few summers ago, while we looked at photos I had just taken of her, when she posed in a two piece baby blue sleep set we'd bought that day, of little panties and a matching top with spaghetti straps, trimmed in pink. As we sat in my desk chair at the PC and I held her close to me, my cock swelled and stretched through the fly of the pajama bottoms I wore, but remained concealed under the tee, while her ass pressed against it. Looking at her pictures, with her soft firm ass on my cock, cum leaked out and left a wet spot she noticed after she rose. "Oh! Daddy." I followed her eyes to the semen on my tee. "That's so romantic." She looked at me, concerned, almost as if I were ill. "Do you need to ... maybe go lie down? For a few minutes?" Without understanding what she meant, and a little confused by it, I said, "No, baby. It's okay. I'm fine." It then occured to me that she was asking if I needed to go to my room and jack off. "Oh! No, baby. I mean. I will later. I mean lie down." She covered her mouth and doubled over with embarrased laughter. At me.
But she had been right. It was a very romantic moment for us, and it brought a new depth to our intimacy. I wondered if she were wet, too. I thought I had felt her body give a little shiver at one point that might have been an orgasm, but she never said, and I certainly didn't ask. Since then, she always giggled when she saw me in that tee with the "bleach stain." I decided to wear the same PJ bottoms I had worn that night, too, which she herself had picked out for me that day, decorated with multiple imprints of Led Zeppelin's logo in red on navy blue. She would remember.
. . . . .
4. Coffee with cream
As I walked downstairs to join her, my cock bobbed semi-erect beneath my PJs. I felt it growing larger as I approached the kitchen where she waited, knowing she would see. As I entered, her eyes looked up at mine, then quickly down to the protrusion in the flannel of my pajamas, where the base of my shaft must have been partly visible through the space it opened in the unbuttoned fly. My Bethie smiled, the same smile I see when I say to her, "I love you."
"Handsome Daddy," she said while mixing a cup of milk into a large bowl of boiled potatoes. "Mmm you smell much better! All fresh and clean." I sat at the kitchen table where a cup of fresh hot coffee waited for me, and watched her cook. As she worked, I admired her legs and the cleft of her ass where the faded silk rested, outlining her shape. I noticed she had rolled the elastic band down and pulled the boxers up higher, making short-shorts of them, and exposing the pretty creases where her thighs met her ass. While she was distracted with her casserole, I took the opportunity to ask more about Lizvette, as if to make conversation, wanting to learn more but not to appear overly curious.
And I had many perfectly reasonable questions about my daughter's friend. Bethie answered all, and added again, "She sure liked you! I was so proud of you, Daddy. You were getting tired in the pool, weren't you?!" I wondered if she had also noticed the erection I had tried to conceal from her under my trunks, my first hard-on for Lizvette, who certainly noticed. "You were wonderful. She couldn't believe it when I told her how old you are. She said, 'But he looks so young!' It was all so sweet, really."
"Well you know. Older men to a young girl can seem very charming. Didn't you ever have a crush on any of your friends' fathers?"
She dropped the first piece of chicken into the pan to fry. "Nope. Only you. Well," she paused to think and give me a more serious answer. "In 8th grade my history teacher, Mr. Garcia." I felt a slight pang of sudden protective jealousy. 8th grade was the year Bethie blossomed. I was sure Mr. Garcia, whom I remembered vaguely as an odd but friendly man, noted it, too. How could he not have? Overnight her little girl breasts had suddenly become those of a woman. It was a turning point in my own life, the first stirrings of my sexual awareness of her. As she worked I watched her breasts jiggle and shake beneath her top, and I noted they were fuller and wider than they appear when she wears a bra, but they sat every bit as high, and were even more shapely. "But that was mainly because he reminded me of you." Oh? That begged a question. What reminded her of me? "He was smart. Made history interesting for once. Like you when you're excited about something." She smiled and said bashfully, "And he was cute. Kind of goofy." Oil popped and plattered onto her arm. "Ouch!"
"You deserved that."
"Well Daddy, you are. But it makes you loveable."
"I have a highly individualized personality."
"You have a highly individualized personality that includes being goofy. And mom and me love it."
"Mom and I."
She stopped while bending to retrieve a mixing spoon from under the counter. "Do you want to take pictures and snuggle today? Or do you want to give me grammar lessons?" She was bent at the waist but her legs were pin-straight and her ass almost split the seam of the silk. She looked at me coolly as my eyes travelled up her calves, her thighs, and rested on her ass, to which I said, "Tell me how you met Lizvette."
"Smart Daddy." She resumed. I learned that Lizvette had texted earlier to say that her family arrived at her grandmother's home safely, that she said to tell me thanks for having her. I also learned that she likes a boy named Johnny ("Also goofy" Bethie said), and that her sister, Lucivette, keeps to herself and isn't at all like Lizvette ("Very stuck up"), and that as far as Bethie knows, Lizvette does quite well in school. "I know she's good at math. I was the teaching assistant in her class. That's how we met." She added, while holding another chicken thigh over the pan, "She might enjoy a grammar lesson from you, though." She dropped the chicken and another splatter of oil hit her wrist. "Damn!"
As the oil splattered onto her wrist, her body jerked and her breasts jiggled. I felt a little drop of cum shoot into my PJs.
"I think you inherited my goofiness."
. . . . .
5. Keeping the secret
We ate seated together on the sofa, eating off of one tray from one large dish. Bethie asked that I drink iced tea instead of wine. She was worried I was drinking too much, she said, and "wine breath is so unappealing, Daddy." That meant I would get a lasting kiss or two. We sipped tea from the same large tumbler, and took turns scooping mashed potatoes from the large pile on the plate. At one point Bethie stabbed an asparagus spear with her fork and put it in my mouth. "Eat your vegetables so you will have lots of energy, Daddy." She took a last bite from her chicken leg, wiped her fingers, then locked her arms around mine, and rested her head on my arm, waiting for me to finish.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, angel."
"Mom was on your computer in the den the other day. I got ... nervous."
"I knew she was, baby. I asked her to look up the mortgage loan number for me." I knew what she was nervous about. "Don't be worried, darling. Our pictures are very secure."
"I really don't think she would understand."
"No, she wouldn't." I wondered if Bethie was having guilty feelings. I stopped eating and said to her, "Baby, we don't have to if you don't want to."
"No that's not what I mean. I like doing it. I do. It's just, please promise you will always be careful, Daddy. She would be so hurt, I think."
"Well, baby, she would be upset, but I don't think we've done anything that would devastate her." I knew that wasn't quite true. "I mean, you and I know what the pictures we take mean to us, but no one could look at them and consider them dirty. There is no nudity. I'm very proud of them. Of you."
"Daddy." She didn't buy a word if it. "We get naughty. She would not understand. No one would. We're practically ..."
What?
"Just promise. Make sure you delete everything from the camera tonight, too."
I looked at her, surprised at her caution. She knew our private pictures were kept in a disguised folder that was accessible only with a password we made up together, just a few years ago, when she was in 8th grade and first modeled a bikini for me, shyly but so proudly. She smiled. "I just ... " She paused, searching for the words. "I want to give you some really..." She paused again, looking for the right word, "Important pictures today, Daddy, ones that will be very valuable to you? After all, I'm growing up, right? Almost the same age Mom was when you married her?" She looked at me, as if to say, "Get it?"
"Oh," I said. "Well..." Now I paused. I was just happy she still wanted to pose. Then I got it. "Oh!" She had something planned. "Well! Baby, I ... Yes! I understand!" She smiled, seeing that I understood at last. "We will save them on the computer. I mean together. And you can watch me delete them from the camera."
"Goofy Daddy." She put her head on my shoulder, satisfied. I put my hand on her thigh and squeezed it, enjoying her softness, her fullness compared to Lizvette and Lois, who were both petite by comparison. I stroked slowly her thigh softly, moving toward her crotch, then back to just above her knees, which I tucked my hand between, and excitedly resumed eating, anxious to get her in front of my camera to see what she had planned.
"Will there be enough light?" It was still cloudy outside. "I hate it when they come out dark. I want you to see me. And I want to see light in your eyes. For my locket."
"Not without opening the curtains." We both knew that was out. "I can set up a floodlight, sweetie. Make it look like window light. That will be enough."
"Do you want me to change? Make up my eyes more?" She sat up with her hands on her thighs, boobs up and forward, legs extended, to give me a view to consider with a photographer's eye.
I looked at her. From the painted toenails on her pretty feet, up her smooth curvy legs to the thin layer of silk that only very loosely covered her waist, to her bare tummy and navel, and the yellow top that allowed me a view of her breast tops - and oh her nipples now stiffening beneath it - and her large, dark doe-eyes smartly lined and shadowed, looking at mine, waiting for my appraisal. "No, darling. You look very pretty. Natural. We will get some beautiful pictures."
"You have mad scientist brows. I should trim you there." She had been appraising me the whole time. She wet her finger and stroked the length of my eyebrows. "Nope. That did it."
I felt her warm saliva cooling on my brow. "Do you know, Lizbeth Conlin, that you are the joy of my life and I love you more than anything in this world?"
"Romantic Daddy." She kissed my arm. "Yes, I know." She rose and lifted the dish. "I love you too, Daddy Conlin. Go and get the camera and I will show you just how much." I watched her ass wiggle toward the kitchen, with the silk stuck between her round ass cheeks. She looked quickly over her shoulder to see if I was watching. "And the floodlight." She turned the corner into the kitchen and yelled, "And the tripod!"
. . . . .
This story is related to the Loving Lizvette series, but involves only Daddy and Bethie. The action takes place immediately following the events told in "Having Lizvette." It is told in 12 scenes which comprise the First Part. The Second Part will follow at a later date and will occur after the events told in the story, "Polly Gamey."
This is a work of fiction. All rights are reserved by the author. No copying to any other site including sex stories dot com is permitted.
. . . . .
The Truth About Bethie (First Part)
1. Bethie in my arms
Bethie and I both remember that Sunday often, and fondly. Despite all that happened that weekend - the weekend Lizvette stepped into my life only to dash out of it again with a promise to return - between Lizvette and me, and between Bethie and me, one memory, a mental picture, lingers as a fitting illustration of it all. It happened when I awakened Sunday evening to the lush violins of the endlessly melodic music for the film, "Malena" while in my hands I felt the soft warmth of my daughter's body. The voluptuous melody matched the curves of my precious Bethie as she snuggled against me, with her head on my shoulder and her thigh d****d across my lap. Just as Saturday had been filled with Lizvette, Sunday was filled with Bethie, and the blessed comfort she gave to me. Certainly my behavior with Lizvette was not looked upon favorably from above, but the peace my beautiful daughter gave me and the intimacy we shared that day was a balm to my soul, and only fate could have allowed it.
In those first few moments after waking, uncertain of the time of day or whether Bethie were asleep too, I didn't know if I were dreaming, or if I truly held my naked daughter naked in my arms. "You're awake." Her quiet voice brought me around to find I was not dreaming, and she was not entirely naked. "That was a good movie." I looked at the screen a few feet from the sofa where we cuddled and saw the end credits scrolling. Bethie asked, "So she never knew the boy loved her?" My left hand was down the back of her boxers, holding her warm bottom. She was naked only to my hands.
"No, angel. I don't think she ever knew." My middle finger rested in the crevice between her cheeks. "He never told her. I doubt he knew how." My right hand was under her tank top, across her breast and resting warmly beneath her armpit. "I don't think they ever actually spoke to one another at all." Her knee was pressing heavily on my cock, and my cock, beneath the pajama pants I wore, was stiffening again for her, flexing against the pressure of her weight. We were covered with the light fleece blanket we kept folded on top of the sofa. Outside a soft rain fell as the last of the sunlight faded. Bethie's heart beat low and steady. Her breath on my neck was warm and sweet and reassuring, reminding me with a subtle tickle that all was, and would be, well.
"I bet you were just like him when you were a boy. Always in love." I heard the smile in her voice.
"Yes, I suppose I was, baby." I reached for the wine glass on the table before us and took a sip to refresh my senses. "But I would have gone to her and told her I loved her. Maybe written her a poem. Risked it. Girls didn't always want to hear that stuff from me."
"But they did when you got older," Bethie encouraged. "That's why you got married late, I bet. Happy bachelor."
"Well it wasn't all la dolce vita, baby. But it was fun." I was older than her friends fathers and she often wondered why I hadn't married sooner. I hadn't felt a need for a wife in my twenties, but when I turned 30 and met Lois, twelve years my junior and looking even younger, I decided I wanted to be a Daddy. "And I wanted you to be born before I got too old to have fun with you." I squeezed her close.
"Aww." She kissed my neck softly. "You were a romantic at my age, Daddy. But you grew up in an unromantic time." She put her hand on my cheek. "It isn't any better now. We were born too late." She kissed my cheek. "You should have been one of those 18th century poets." She, like the girls of my youth, sometimes found my romantic side a little too much, but she always seemed to tolerate it, at times even to cater to it, as she was doing then, as she had done all day.
A message vibrated on her phone, which lay behind her on the sofa. "Is your movie over yet???" a friend was asking impatiently. It was not Lizvette. I saw that much before it vanished. She ignored it. "Now I'm sleepy," she said. "And you're going to be awake all night. I shouldn't have let you nap so long."
It had been an eventful Sunday for us, a turning point in our love. As she had promised me the night before, when she came to me in my den to thank me for giving up our planned day alone so that she could have a friend over, she made it a special one. We thought the night before that we might only have time enough for her to make breakfast for me then pose for a few photos before Lois returned from her trip. That's when fate intervened, and the same storm that took Lizvette away so suddenly also kept Lois from returning, and made possible this day alone with Bethie, time I needed desperately, and though I did not know it, time she needed with me.
Lois had texted that morning, not long after Bethie left to rush Lizvette home, "Not driving in this storm. Will stay another night. Love you." My relief began there and I determined that any worrying that might need to be done about Lizvette, and all the guilt and the risks that came after sex with a fifteen year old girl, could wait. I would spend the day with my daughter, and focus only on her. The storm had been a reprieve, almost stopping time itself, to allow me precious hours alone with my Bethie, to adore her and take pleasure in her. That is why the memory lingers, of waking during a rainy sunset with her body in my arms. I have no photograph of that moment, but it is my favorite image of the two of us, a perfect portrait of our own secret love, and all of it's meaning, and a fitting end to our loving day together. She would not leave my arms until sunrise.
. . . . .
2. That morning
While I slept that morning, drifting in and out of various stages of consciousness, Bethie tidied the living room, put away the bedding she and Lizvette had slept in, did some homework, then knocked on my bedroom door a little before noon. "Daddy? Are you still sleeping? Are you hungry?"
"Come in, angel." She wore a yellow tank top and a pair of my old silk boxers, black but faded. The worn elastic band d****d prettily across her hip bones. She sat beside me as I lay in bed.
"You had too much wine, didn't you?" I probably had, but I was so filled with adrenaline and endorphins I had no noticeable hangover. I remember I wanted only two things. Quiet time to think of Lizvette, and intimacy with my beautiful loving daughter. Whenever we were alone, Bethie took our intimacy to new limits, new depths, breaking old boundaries and setting new ones where we would settle in and take pleasure in each other, pleasure that only we could possibly give to one another, because no other girl is my daughter, and no other man her father.
I informed her that her mother would not be back till tomorrow morning. She smiled, raised an eyebrow and said, "I know, Daddy." I put my arms around her waist and pulled her closer.
"You haven't cooked for me in a while. I'd love some of your fried chicken. With mashed potatoes and that asparagus and peas casserole you make."
"No breakfast? I was hoping to try making an omelette for you." She leaned across me and rested on her elbow.
"Next time, baby. I think I need something with more substance right now." I reached below the worn elastic waistband of the old boxers she wore and patted her smooth, warm bottom.
"I'll spoil you today, Daddy." She kissed my nose. "Let's eat, then I want you to take some new pictures of us. Then we'll snuggle up and watch TV." I gave her bottom a lasting squeeze, and took a lover's delight in her youthful, supple, firmness. She allowed my hand to squeeze a little longer before she rose and said. "But you will be a better snuggle buddy after a shower and brush, stinky man."
She probably sensed I needed such a day, to be spolied by her. Bethie's intuition about my emotional state was always very accurate, and I was in a chaotic emotional state that morning, only hours since I made love to her friend Lizvette while Bethie slept. Feelings of sexual, romantic love for Lizvette were clashing with feelings of guilt at the betrayal of my wife Lois, and every bit as important, betrayal of Bethie herself. If I should be found out, if Lizvette should let our secret slip, I would surely hear my wife tearfully reacting, "A 15 year old c***d? How could you? You not only betray me, but you risk prison to do it?" And Bethie. "Daddy don't you get it? You're not in love with her. She's just a substitute for me. Why didn't you just do it to me? If you needed it that bad I would have let you."
That idea was not simply my erotic imagination. Bethie had become a sort of stand-in for Lois in some ways. She did not compete with her, but she seemed ready and able to step in to playing parts of Lois's role that Lois gradually left behind as our marriage matured. Bethie was not blind to it. She didn't want to replace her mother, of course, but she had become more attentive to me as Lois found new distractions in her church volunteer work, her charitable activities, and in spending time with her girlfriends. Lois had been a young bride, a young mother, and I was aware that she had missed out on things other young women her age took part in. When Lois would busy herself with other things, Bethie happily stepped in to be my cook, my laundress, my tie-straightener, my caregiver in times of illness, my playmate in times of leisure.
"What did I do to deserve you? I asked her as I cupped her cheek in my palm.
"You spoil me enough. I can make a sacrifice for you now and then."
"I could spoil you more. You're the perfect daughter. For me."
"That's very true, Daddy darling. You should buy me a Mustang. Not many girls would put up with you, you know." She kissed me before rising and I watched her as she walked to the bedroom door, tucking the silk of her shorts under the waistband, like a curtain rising to reveal a work of art. "Meet me downstairs," she said at the door. "And be hungry."
. . . . .
3. Giving in
I showered with an erection that begged to be stroked, an erection for Bethie, for Lizvette, from being in love, and from needing to express it, to each of them. I was filled to overflowing with erotic love for them, wanting them each in turn. I needed to cum, but felt doing so would have been almost a betrayal of Lizvette. I needed to cum for her. In her. Because of her. Just as I had last night, as I forced her little body to stay impaled on me, even as she tried to free herself as my orgasm became obvious. And didn't a fleeting thought of Bethie cross my mind as I did that to Lizvette? Something I could never allow myself to do with my own little girl. Not even if she asked me to. And she would never ask me to. And if she did, what would my answer be? I imagined my daughter, straddling me with my cock deep inside her, watching me approach orgasm and saying to me, "Cum in me, Daddy." Would I? I didn't know the answer, but the question put Lizvette out of my mind, for the moment, as I gave in again to thoughts of my daughter.
I lathered my shaft and allowed myself a few strokes to keep it up and arched, and struck again the pose I dreamed of striking for my daughter's eyes, with my feet apart, one fist on my hip, one hand on her imaginary head before me, caressing her hair, her face, with my hips thrust forward, my cock waiting for her kiss, my balls hanging low waiting for her to cup them in her hand. She had never seen my bare cock, let alone witnessed me having a full orgasm for her, with cum erupting from me in thick shots before her eyes. That day could never come, I believed, but for now, it was satisfying enough, meaningful enough, for her to see me aroused by her, and for her to know what her beauty and her touch did to me. I could not cum, I decided. I wanted to stay hungry for her, and I wanted her to know it.
Until she asked me for more, our kisses, my loving hands down the back of her shorts, our embraces, and her body pressed firmly against my cock, feeling the rock hard reassurance of her beauty, her posing for my camera - knowing all the while what I do with her pictures - this was the depth and breadth of our secret life together. It was the most beautiful part of my life, and I believed of hers, too. It was just enough to sustain us. Any more would make of her something other than my daughter, and make me perhaps something less than her father. As I rinsed and dried and dressed, I held my erection for her knowing it was the symbol of our love, so unique, so deep and so very much our own. It told her she was the beauty in my life, and that just as I was her first love, she was my deepest. She must, I knew, always believe that. Just as she had moments before promised she would spoil me, I promised myself that I would focus on her that day, and not simply with my camera. I would leave in no room in her mind for doubting that she was the beautiful, calming center of my world.
I dressed in a dark green tee, one I knew Bethie loved for the little discolored spot a few inches above the bottom hem, a spot Lois believed was spilled bleach but about which Bethie knew the truth. It was a spot that appeared after she had been sitting in my lap, one night a few summers ago, while we looked at photos I had just taken of her, when she posed in a two piece baby blue sleep set we'd bought that day, of little panties and a matching top with spaghetti straps, trimmed in pink. As we sat in my desk chair at the PC and I held her close to me, my cock swelled and stretched through the fly of the pajama bottoms I wore, but remained concealed under the tee, while her ass pressed against it. Looking at her pictures, with her soft firm ass on my cock, cum leaked out and left a wet spot she noticed after she rose. "Oh! Daddy." I followed her eyes to the semen on my tee. "That's so romantic." She looked at me, concerned, almost as if I were ill. "Do you need to ... maybe go lie down? For a few minutes?" Without understanding what she meant, and a little confused by it, I said, "No, baby. It's okay. I'm fine." It then occured to me that she was asking if I needed to go to my room and jack off. "Oh! No, baby. I mean. I will later. I mean lie down." She covered her mouth and doubled over with embarrased laughter. At me.
But she had been right. It was a very romantic moment for us, and it brought a new depth to our intimacy. I wondered if she were wet, too. I thought I had felt her body give a little shiver at one point that might have been an orgasm, but she never said, and I certainly didn't ask. Since then, she always giggled when she saw me in that tee with the "bleach stain." I decided to wear the same PJ bottoms I had worn that night, too, which she herself had picked out for me that day, decorated with multiple imprints of Led Zeppelin's logo in red on navy blue. She would remember.
. . . . .
4. Coffee with cream
As I walked downstairs to join her, my cock bobbed semi-erect beneath my PJs. I felt it growing larger as I approached the kitchen where she waited, knowing she would see. As I entered, her eyes looked up at mine, then quickly down to the protrusion in the flannel of my pajamas, where the base of my shaft must have been partly visible through the space it opened in the unbuttoned fly. My Bethie smiled, the same smile I see when I say to her, "I love you."
"Handsome Daddy," she said while mixing a cup of milk into a large bowl of boiled potatoes. "Mmm you smell much better! All fresh and clean." I sat at the kitchen table where a cup of fresh hot coffee waited for me, and watched her cook. As she worked, I admired her legs and the cleft of her ass where the faded silk rested, outlining her shape. I noticed she had rolled the elastic band down and pulled the boxers up higher, making short-shorts of them, and exposing the pretty creases where her thighs met her ass. While she was distracted with her casserole, I took the opportunity to ask more about Lizvette, as if to make conversation, wanting to learn more but not to appear overly curious.
And I had many perfectly reasonable questions about my daughter's friend. Bethie answered all, and added again, "She sure liked you! I was so proud of you, Daddy. You were getting tired in the pool, weren't you?!" I wondered if she had also noticed the erection I had tried to conceal from her under my trunks, my first hard-on for Lizvette, who certainly noticed. "You were wonderful. She couldn't believe it when I told her how old you are. She said, 'But he looks so young!' It was all so sweet, really."
"Well you know. Older men to a young girl can seem very charming. Didn't you ever have a crush on any of your friends' fathers?"
She dropped the first piece of chicken into the pan to fry. "Nope. Only you. Well," she paused to think and give me a more serious answer. "In 8th grade my history teacher, Mr. Garcia." I felt a slight pang of sudden protective jealousy. 8th grade was the year Bethie blossomed. I was sure Mr. Garcia, whom I remembered vaguely as an odd but friendly man, noted it, too. How could he not have? Overnight her little girl breasts had suddenly become those of a woman. It was a turning point in my own life, the first stirrings of my sexual awareness of her. As she worked I watched her breasts jiggle and shake beneath her top, and I noted they were fuller and wider than they appear when she wears a bra, but they sat every bit as high, and were even more shapely. "But that was mainly because he reminded me of you." Oh? That begged a question. What reminded her of me? "He was smart. Made history interesting for once. Like you when you're excited about something." She smiled and said bashfully, "And he was cute. Kind of goofy." Oil popped and plattered onto her arm. "Ouch!"
"You deserved that."
"Well Daddy, you are. But it makes you loveable."
"I have a highly individualized personality."
"You have a highly individualized personality that includes being goofy. And mom and me love it."
"Mom and I."
She stopped while bending to retrieve a mixing spoon from under the counter. "Do you want to take pictures and snuggle today? Or do you want to give me grammar lessons?" She was bent at the waist but her legs were pin-straight and her ass almost split the seam of the silk. She looked at me coolly as my eyes travelled up her calves, her thighs, and rested on her ass, to which I said, "Tell me how you met Lizvette."
"Smart Daddy." She resumed. I learned that Lizvette had texted earlier to say that her family arrived at her grandmother's home safely, that she said to tell me thanks for having her. I also learned that she likes a boy named Johnny ("Also goofy" Bethie said), and that her sister, Lucivette, keeps to herself and isn't at all like Lizvette ("Very stuck up"), and that as far as Bethie knows, Lizvette does quite well in school. "I know she's good at math. I was the teaching assistant in her class. That's how we met." She added, while holding another chicken thigh over the pan, "She might enjoy a grammar lesson from you, though." She dropped the chicken and another splatter of oil hit her wrist. "Damn!"
As the oil splattered onto her wrist, her body jerked and her breasts jiggled. I felt a little drop of cum shoot into my PJs.
"I think you inherited my goofiness."
. . . . .
5. Keeping the secret
We ate seated together on the sofa, eating off of one tray from one large dish. Bethie asked that I drink iced tea instead of wine. She was worried I was drinking too much, she said, and "wine breath is so unappealing, Daddy." That meant I would get a lasting kiss or two. We sipped tea from the same large tumbler, and took turns scooping mashed potatoes from the large pile on the plate. At one point Bethie stabbed an asparagus spear with her fork and put it in my mouth. "Eat your vegetables so you will have lots of energy, Daddy." She took a last bite from her chicken leg, wiped her fingers, then locked her arms around mine, and rested her head on my arm, waiting for me to finish.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, angel."
"Mom was on your computer in the den the other day. I got ... nervous."
"I knew she was, baby. I asked her to look up the mortgage loan number for me." I knew what she was nervous about. "Don't be worried, darling. Our pictures are very secure."
"I really don't think she would understand."
"No, she wouldn't." I wondered if Bethie was having guilty feelings. I stopped eating and said to her, "Baby, we don't have to if you don't want to."
"No that's not what I mean. I like doing it. I do. It's just, please promise you will always be careful, Daddy. She would be so hurt, I think."
"Well, baby, she would be upset, but I don't think we've done anything that would devastate her." I knew that wasn't quite true. "I mean, you and I know what the pictures we take mean to us, but no one could look at them and consider them dirty. There is no nudity. I'm very proud of them. Of you."
"Daddy." She didn't buy a word if it. "We get naughty. She would not understand. No one would. We're practically ..."
What?
"Just promise. Make sure you delete everything from the camera tonight, too."
I looked at her, surprised at her caution. She knew our private pictures were kept in a disguised folder that was accessible only with a password we made up together, just a few years ago, when she was in 8th grade and first modeled a bikini for me, shyly but so proudly. She smiled. "I just ... " She paused, searching for the words. "I want to give you some really..." She paused again, looking for the right word, "Important pictures today, Daddy, ones that will be very valuable to you? After all, I'm growing up, right? Almost the same age Mom was when you married her?" She looked at me, as if to say, "Get it?"
"Oh," I said. "Well..." Now I paused. I was just happy she still wanted to pose. Then I got it. "Oh!" She had something planned. "Well! Baby, I ... Yes! I understand!" She smiled, seeing that I understood at last. "We will save them on the computer. I mean together. And you can watch me delete them from the camera."
"Goofy Daddy." She put her head on my shoulder, satisfied. I put my hand on her thigh and squeezed it, enjoying her softness, her fullness compared to Lizvette and Lois, who were both petite by comparison. I stroked slowly her thigh softly, moving toward her crotch, then back to just above her knees, which I tucked my hand between, and excitedly resumed eating, anxious to get her in front of my camera to see what she had planned.
"Will there be enough light?" It was still cloudy outside. "I hate it when they come out dark. I want you to see me. And I want to see light in your eyes. For my locket."
"Not without opening the curtains." We both knew that was out. "I can set up a floodlight, sweetie. Make it look like window light. That will be enough."
"Do you want me to change? Make up my eyes more?" She sat up with her hands on her thighs, boobs up and forward, legs extended, to give me a view to consider with a photographer's eye.
I looked at her. From the painted toenails on her pretty feet, up her smooth curvy legs to the thin layer of silk that only very loosely covered her waist, to her bare tummy and navel, and the yellow top that allowed me a view of her breast tops - and oh her nipples now stiffening beneath it - and her large, dark doe-eyes smartly lined and shadowed, looking at mine, waiting for my appraisal. "No, darling. You look very pretty. Natural. We will get some beautiful pictures."
"You have mad scientist brows. I should trim you there." She had been appraising me the whole time. She wet her finger and stroked the length of my eyebrows. "Nope. That did it."
I felt her warm saliva cooling on my brow. "Do you know, Lizbeth Conlin, that you are the joy of my life and I love you more than anything in this world?"
"Romantic Daddy." She kissed my arm. "Yes, I know." She rose and lifted the dish. "I love you too, Daddy Conlin. Go and get the camera and I will show you just how much." I watched her ass wiggle toward the kitchen, with the silk stuck between her round ass cheeks. She looked quickly over her shoulder to see if I was watching. "And the floodlight." She turned the corner into the kitchen and yelled, "And the tripod!"
. . . . .
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