A Dangerous Roleplay With Your Best Friend's Father

Transcript

Your heart is hammering away at the inside of your chest, so insistently that it feels like your ribs are bruised and your breasts are trying to punch their way out of your gown. Ah, your gown. Your stupid gown.

You're still wearing your stupid gown. And Chloe is drinking another mimosa. Part of you is grateful for that.

You want her drunk and snoring tonight. But part of you can't help trying to stop her. You make eye contact, give her the look, tell her to slow down, honey, because you two have been down this road before.

She gets wild, has fun for half an hour, and then spends the rest of the night dizzy in a bathtub asking you deep philosophical questions like, why do my eyes hurt? And why do guys suck? And is it still in my hair? But if she's drunk tonight, just enough to sleep like the dead, not enough to poison herself, then, then what?

What is going to happen tonight? You set your own drink aside to check your phone for the dozenth time this hour and aim a shaky thumb at your text history. You've read the thread again and again and again, and still you don't quite believe it.

The party swirls around you, a hurricane of sound, laughter, music, and the smell of cocktails is sour in your nostrils. You feel the heat of your friends, your fellow graduates, soon-to-be graduate students, and one day lawyers, doctors, professors, professionals. Reading the text again, at once you feel like a little girl and the most grown of women, because you have a secret, a dirty secret.

You were nearly as drunk as Chloe when you sent the first text. It was a week ago, you were celebrating the end of finals, and you were curled up in your bed after a long night out with Chloe. She'd flirted with the Uber driver, you'd told her to stop, and she'd pinched your leg and asked you if you'd ever needed something so badly that you actually made a bad decision.

She was teasing you and complimenting you in the same breath. You're a good girl and everybody knows it, reliable and honest and never involved with the wrong kind of guys. Too busy studying, too busy taking care of Chloe, too busy prepping for grad school and your internships and the next two decades of your life.

You're no angel, of course, you've had your share of regrettable hookups and disappointing boyfriends, but nothing that set your world on fire, nothing worth risking at all. Maybe what Chloe said got under your skin, maybe you were just drunk enough to ignore the obvious risk, maybe. Or was it that you'd been thinking about me for an indecently long time, and with finals over, with your diploma practically in your hand, there was nothing preventing years of pent-up lust from sending hot blood coursing between your legs, setting a fire in your heart, and making you sweat.

Your neck, your stomach, that spot in your lower back, all tingled as you crouched at the corner of your bed and wrote a single text, I need something. You sent it. You forced yourself to send it before you chickened out, and immediately regretted it.

You thought you'd worded it in such a way that you could play it off, pretend it didn't happen, but you were sure in that drunken moment that I would read those three words and know everything you'd kept from me all these years. Every dirty thought, every horny fantasy, everything. It was all right there in the text.

It was 1am on a Thursday night, and it could only mean one thing. You put the phone down, tried to make yourself go to sleep. I was an adult with a life and a job and a mortgage, and I wouldn't even see the stupid thing until the morning when you could say you meant to message Chloe, not me, not her father.

But then you picked up the phone again, didn't you, and you saw the little dots that meant I was writing something back at 1am on a Thursday night, probably in my bed. You need to go to sleep, I wrote back. Of course, responsible.

That was the responsible thing to do. And you'd do that, just write a quick text to apologize, say it was the wrong number, and sleep this off, and we'd pretend this didn't happen for the rest of our lives. But what if, for once in your life, this could be easy? What if I really did know everything? What if that wasn't an annoyed text? What if that was something else? Because that was how this all started, didn't it? You'd always felt something else, something else in my easy smile and my kind eyes, something else I was saying when I wasn't saying anything.

Or was that all in your head? Was this only, ever, a one-way infatuation? A girl's crush? A dark fantasy that only grew darker with each new kink you discovered in yourself? Losing confidence, you texted back, sorry, wrong number.

And that was that? Should have been that. If it was only, ever, a one-way street.

You put the phone down, you tried to keep your eyes closed, but you heard the phone buzz again, and looked. Is that true? I wrote back.

Oh, no. No, it wasn't true at all. I knew exactly who you texted, and why, and what you wanted me to do.

You'd been thinking about it for years, adding to the fantasy, soaking your sheets in the middle of the night when you couldn't sleep, and it was all that brought relief. So, no, you texted back. Just that.

No, no, you told a lie. No, no, you wanted my attention. Wanted? Need is a very strong word, I texted back, and without thinking, you wrote, I feel very strongly about it.

Strong feelings can be dangerous, I wrote. You answered back with the most honest thing you could say. I want something dangerous.

Want, I asked. Or need. Need, you wrote.

And then there was a pause, a very long pause, in which you could see no ellipses, and even started to wonder if I'd abandoned you. A thousand images erupted in your mind, different versions of me, sitting up in bed, staring at your number, your words, and wondering if this was some kind of game. But if it was a game, I came to play.

And after a few minutes, I wrote back, you're being a bad girl tonight, aren't you? And that it wasn't your best friend's father you were texting. Well, it very much was, and that was the crux of it, wasn't it? So now it was also the man, the man on the other side of the phone, who was paying close attention.

Yes, Daddy, you wrote. Very, very bad. In the darkness of my daughter's room, you imagine colors swirling on her ceiling.

Your heart is restless, like a caged bird, and there is a knot in your stomach twisting tighter and tighter by the second. You don't know how long you've been lying here, five minutes or five hours, but you tell yourself you can't possibly wait another moment. But then you do, because you have to.

You haven't heard from me all day, and you're afraid, really, genuinely afraid, that I've forgotten or changed my mind. Or maybe I just won't, because, well, it's not just you and Chloe in here, is it? You're lying on the floor, a lumpy pillow under your head, and a spare, slightly musty blanket folded under your breasts.

Chloe's snoring in her bed, her limbs tangled with Vanessa's. If Chloe was drunk tonight, Vanessa was a public service announcement, so Chloe invited the girl to stay, loudly and insistently. It would be like old times, she said.

The three of you huddled together in her bed, giggling and watching practical magic. They tried to get you to join them, but you said no, no, it was too hot, you'd rather be able to spread out on the floor. Fortunately, by the time you all made it up to Chloe's room, they were too far gone to argue.

Unfortunately, now there are two very drunk girls in her bed, possible witnesses to your depravity. And so you lie here, staring at the ceiling and forcing yourself not to text me, not to call me. You lie here, and once more open our text thread, read through the things you told me, the things I told you, the plan, and line after line of you promising me, yes, daddy, yes, I want this, please do this to me, please, please, pretty please, and the safe word.

It was when we agreed on a safe word that you knew this was for real, the word an inside joke from years ago, the word proof that all our little confidences and conversations belied an attraction I was willing to hide for the sake of decency, but you don't want to be decent anymore. You told me your fantasy, that you had dreamed it so many nights, wished for it in the hot, comfortable haven of Chloe's bed, of her sweet, respectable father coming to you in the night and making you submit to his secret, unstoppable lust, pulling your panties to the side while Chloe slept her untroubled dreams and ravishing you, while you whispered, no, please, daddy, don't make me your dirty slut, but you've always been my dirty slut, haven't you? In your heart.

And the thought of having Vanessa here too, the one who always made your blood boil with how shamelessly she flirted with me, right in front of Chloe, shameless enough that she told Vanessa to stop being gross, is turning the warm, wet spot between your legs into a trembling, sultry menace. You've been horny before, you've needed before, but never like this, because you've never tried something like this, never wanted something badly enough to ask for it, ask or beg for it, this was a dream, a dirty desire, a secret yearning never to be true, but then you texted, you told me, and I responded, not with shock or disgust, but enthusiasm, cautious enthusiasm, but it was only a text. You haven't spoken to me yet, even when you saw me at the party, couldn't bring yourself to say a word, your mouth was so dry, your cheeks were so hot, Chloe told you you were flushed, a lightweight, when in fact, you haven't had a drop to drink, you're going to throw your phone at the wall, no, that would wake them up, you're going to find your pants and you're going to leave this house and never come back, you can't bear it, you can't believe you trusted me with this, you can't lie here in torment a minute longer, you need.

.. Your heart leaps into your throat, your phone drops onto your chest with a thud and you brush it off and turn, turn, turn onto your stomach, your head hits the pillow, you shut your eyes and your pulse races like you've been running a marathon, through your closed eyelids you see the glow of the open door, only for it to vanish, the door has closed or the light's gone off, you're not sure which because your blood is racing so loudly in your ears and your breath is escaping in overwhelming gasps, do you hear slow, heavy footsteps in the room or is that your imagination? You struggle to listen for Chloe and Vanessa, are they awake or are they sleeping? The tension is so tight in your chest that you feel dizzy, almost nauseous, and then the creak of the floor at the foot of your sleeping bag, the unmistakable presence of another person in the room, eyes on you, you can't stop your body from trembling as the sheet is softly pulled away, adrenaline is coursing through your veins making your muscles buzz with anticipation, your bare legs are kissed by the cool air of Chloe's bedroom, you're on your stomach, face pressed into the pillow, eyes clenched shut as if you're locked into a deep, drunken sleep, your legs are splayed out, your dark panties riding up the crack of your ass, one butt cheek indecently exposed, and then a hand caresses the swell of that exposed cheek, both hands glide over your freshly shaven thighs, big hands exploring hands, you hear the grunt of a big hungry man and it can only be Chloe's father, your heart is beating so hard now you're afraid you're going to pass out, Chloe is on the bed sleeping mere feet away, Vanessa tangled up with her like a drunken kitten and her father is groping you in your sleep, so are you dreaming now or are you praying this is as far as he'll go, when I pull your panties to the side you know I will go much farther, I am quiet in the darkness but I am big and the house is old and the floor creaks and cracks as I readjust my weight, your panties are roughly hiked over one cheek of your ass, rough enough to wake a sober girl but maybe not a tipsy teenager or a drunken college co-ed, my hot breath rolls over your buttocks and the tremble in your limbs becomes an all out shiver, you can feel my face so close to you, feel my nose against the crack of your ass, I rove lower, lower until my mouth, my nose is pressed into the folds of your innocent unprotected sex, and I inhale deeply, your toes are curling now, your fingers clenched over Chloe's spare pillow, I'm smelling you, not once but many times, breathing in your scent like a dog that's found something it likes, my big hands spread you open so I can breathe deeper still, and when I am as deep into your cunt as my lips and mouth will allow, my tongue slides out to lick you from top to bottom, you cannot stifle your moan, you bite your lip to keep it from growing any louder but this is the culmination of so many fevered fantasies that you are truly unsure if you are dreaming right now, my big tongue laps in your swollen clitoris where it is pressed against the open sleeping bag and licks up, up your pussy and to the point just shy of your asshole, and I am growling into your wet little slit like a monster unleashed from beneath the bed, my licks grow stronger, longer and more hungry as I turn your pussy into a wet and dripping mess, I feast on you here in the quiet darkness of Chloe's room and you fight and struggle not to cry out, but with the pressure building in your body and my fingers spreading your ass apart, teasing your asshole, you think it's time you woke up, and so you take a deep breath, your fingers claw at your pillow and you flex your thighs and hips, what, you say, pretending to bat away the cobwebs of sleep, what's happening, you ask, voiced thick with confusion, what are you doing to me, at once my tongue recedes from your pussy, you feel my weight so much heavier than you, crawl over your half naked body, you feel me press against you, still clothed but with an unmistakable bulge in my slacks, hard and sharp against your sopping ass, you feel my arm against your shoulder and then my big hand slides over your mouth, quiet little girl, I growl in your ear, daddy's had enough of your teasing, now I'm going to take what I want, another big hand slides under your t-shirt to cup your tender breast, the nipple is diamond hard against my rough palm, you moan into my hand, what passes for a scream in this dangerous roleplay, please, you plead, please don't do this, you didn't mean to tease me, you say, too late now, I whisper in your ear, my teeth bite into your earlobe, the hand on your breast retreats and you feel it trail down, down to my slacks, but Chloe's right here, you warn me, you hear the zipper slide down and now you struggle, not enough to cause a ruckus, not enough to wake the others, but enough to make me pin you down, enough for you to feel my real strength, my muscles bulging with the effort of forcing you against the floor and spreading your legs, stay still you little slut, I whisper in your ear and the words fire through you like liquid lightning, racing between your legs and traveling up, up to the animal center of your brain, you bite into my palm, not to fight me, but to restrain a high-pitched moan that you fear could wake the neighbors, there's nothing you can do, I murmur into your ear, you hear my smile in the words and feel the throb of my cock as it emerges from my pants, so just lie here and take it like a good girl, your stomach flat against the ground, legs spread wide, you can do nothing but tremble as my cock, the cock belonging to your best friend's father, probes that defenseless bundle of nerves between your legs, your eyes roll back as my cock head brushes your clitoris and runs up and down your labia, you feel that, that's daddy's dick on your pussy, you're kicking your legs now, moving your hips, it could be construed as a struggle, but really you're so excited you can't keep still, you're shaking.