I Asked My Father to Help Me with Some Photos

I turned eighteen three months ago, and ever since then I’ve had the feeling that I’m standing right on the threshold of something I don’t quite understand. As if I’d crossed an invisible door and, on the other side, everything looked the same as always… but no longer felt the same.

I live with my parents in the same house as always. The same walls, the same furniture, the same sounds every morning. And yet, for the past few weeks, something has changed. Something changed inside me, and I don’t dare name it.

My mother has been bedridden since an accident six years ago. Since then, my father has carried everything. His name is Rodrigo, he’s forty-three, and he’s one of those people you take for granted, as if they were part of the background of the world. My mom trusts him with her eyes closed, loves him. I loved him too, of course I did. I still love him. But now there’s something more, and that’s what scares me.

Before, I never paid attention to how he looked. I didn’t notice his voice, or the way he said my name, or how his forearms stood out when he lifted my mom to help her get comfortable. He was always affectionate with me, but when I entered adolescence I took my distance, my space, my closed-locked world. Now, instead, all of that catches my attention.

Sometimes I catch myself staring at him more than I should, studying details that have no reason to matter. And when he notices and asks me, “What’s wrong, Lucía?”, I make up any excuse and look away as if I’d been caught stealing.

I feel ridiculous. But I can’t help it.

I don’t know exactly when it started. Maybe it was one ordinary afternoon, in some stupid conversation, when I felt that he was really listening to me. Not like I was a child, but like a woman who had something to say. And that left me trembling inside.

From that day on I started asking myself questions that had never even crossed my mind before. How does he see me? Does he still look at me like I’m his daughter? Or has he ever, even for a second, looked at me and thought something else? Those questions haunt me all day, like a buzz that won’t stop.

I started touching myself thinking about him. I can’t deny it. At night, with the door locked and the lamp off, I’d slip my hand under my pajamas and stroke my cunt slowly, imagining it was his fingers. I got so wet the pillow would stick to my thighs. And while I made myself come, biting the edge of the sheet, I whispered “daddy” so softly even I couldn’t hear myself. Then I’d lie there staring at the ceiling, my hand still between my legs, feeling my swollen clit throbbing and a shame that didn’t stop me from wanting to do it again the next day.

***

Today something small happened that I can’t get out of my head. We were alone in the kitchen. I was pouring myself water when I felt his gaze on my back. It was nothing out of the ordinary, probably it didn’t even mean anything to him. But for me, time stopped dead.

—Everything okay, sweetheart? —he asked, in that same calm voice of his.

I nodded without daring to turn my head. I gripped the glass so hard I thought it might break. I hated myself a little in that instant, because I’m not like this. Or at least I wasn’t until recently.

Afterward I locked myself in my room and tried to distract myself with my phone. I scrolled through photos, stories, anything, until I came across a picture of myself from a few days earlier. Sometimes I take photos of myself in pajamas or underwear, just to see myself, to understand my body, to find the flaws I think I have. I looked at that photo longer than usual. I studied my face, my posture, the light coming through the window.

And without realizing it, I thought of him.

I thought about how he’d see me if he were the one holding the camera. If, looking at me through the screen, he saw me in a different way. The idea made me ashamed and hot at the same time, and no matter how hard I tried to shake it off, it stayed with me, stuck to my skin.

I took off my panties right there, on top of the bed, with the photo open on the screen and my own face looking back at me from it. I spread my legs and started rubbing two fingers over my cunt, up and down, imagining he was checking the photos beside me. That he was looking at them in silence, his breathing heavy, and then he’d put the phone down and slip his hand under my pajamas without saying a word. I slid one finger in, then another, and with my other hand I squeezed a breast until my nipple hardened against my palm. I came biting my forearm, my back arched and my legs shaking, and when I pulled my fingers out they were shining, soaked. I brought them to my mouth without thinking. I sucked them.

It wasn’t just wanting his attention. It was wanting to know what would happen if he shoved his cock all the way in.

***

That night, when he came home from work, I found him in the living room checking something on his phone. I stayed in the hallway for a while, watching him, unsure whether to speak or stay quiet. My mom was already in her room, asleep. The whole house smelled like silence.

My heart was beating like I was about to do something important. Or something I should never do.

In the end I walked up to him.

—Dad —I said, and my voice came out thinner than I wanted.

He looked up, calm.

—Yes, sweetheart?

For a second I forgot the words I had rehearsed. But I was already there, standing in front of him, with no way back.

—You know how to take photos, right?

—A little, but I’m pretty bad at it —he said with a half smile—. Why?

I swallowed.

—I wanted you to help me with some photos. Something simple. To practice.

There was a small silence. Not uncomfortable, but enough for my head to start inventing a thousand things.

—What kind of photos? —he asked at last, setting the phone down on the table.

And that’s when I realized I hadn’t thought out the answer. Or maybe I had, but I didn’t dare say it out loud.

—I’ll explain tomorrow —I murmured, and almost ran to my room.

I threw myself on the bed, staring at the ceiling as if the answers were written up there. This isn’t about the photos, I thought. It’s because I want him to fuck me. And that’s what scares me the most.

That night I masturbated three times in a row. The first time with my fingers, imagining I was doing it in his desk chair, my dress lifted and no panties on. The second with the handle of my hairbrush, pushing it in slowly until my cunt got used to it, biting the pillow so I wouldn’t moan. The third was almost without meaning to, half asleep, thinking about his mouth. I woke up with the sheets in a mess and the certainty that the next day I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes without everything showing on my face.

***

The next day I waited until my mom fell asleep for her afternoon nap. Rodrigo was in his room putting clothes away when I knocked on the door with a knot in my stomach. I was wearing a short, light dress, one I knew looked good on me, and underneath it the prettiest lingerie I had. A black lace set, almost transparent, that showed my nipples and slipped between my cunt lips when I walked. That morning I’d shaved everything, legs spread in front of the mirror, thinking about him the whole time.

—Do you have a minute? —I asked from the doorway.

He looked me up and down for just a second and immediately looked away. But I saw it. I saw that he’d looked at me differently, and that tiny detail set me on fire inside. I felt the wetness gathering between my legs right there, standing in the doorway.

—Sure. The famous photos? —he said, grabbing his phone.

I nodded. I went into his room and closed the door slowly. The click of the lock sounded louder than it should have.

—It’s just that… I want to practice poses —I explained, sitting on the edge of his bed—. How to stand, how to look at the camera. You just take them, I’ll handle the rest.

—All right —he said, and sat in the desk chair in front of me—. Let’s see, stand there, by the window, the light’s good.

I stood up. The afternoon light came in warm and golden. I leaned against the wall, one hand on my hip, chin a little lowered, looking at him from beneath my lashes.

The shutter sounded two, three times.

—They’re turning out good —he said, checking the screen, and cleared his throat—. You’ve got a good angle.

—What if I let my hair down? —I asked.

Without waiting for an answer, I undid my ponytail and shook my head. My hair fell over my shoulders. I saw Rodrigo freeze for a second, phone in the air, not shooting. I saw the bulge in his pants. I saw it perfectly. And he realized I’d seen it, because he crossed one leg over the other, trying to hide it.

Look at me, I thought. Look at me already, daddy. Look at me like you want to fuck me.

—Lucía —he said, and his voice came out hoarse—. Is this just for practice?

The air turned thick. I felt the heat climbing up my neck.

—I don’t know —I admitted in a whisper—. For weeks now I haven’t known anything.

He lowered the phone. He looked at me for real, for the first time without pretending otherwise, and in his eyes there was something I recognized because it was the same thing I felt. Fear and desire fighting in the same place.

—This isn’t right —he said, but he didn’t stand up, didn’t leave, didn’t tell me to get out.

—I know —I replied, and took a step toward him.

***

I knelt on the floor between his legs and rested my hands on his knees. I felt him tense all over, like a rope about to snap. I lifted my face and looked at him. From down there the bulge looked enormous, straining against the fabric of his pants, and I couldn’t stop staring at it.

—Just tell me to go —I murmured— and I’ll go.

He didn’t say it. He brought one hand to my cheek slowly, as if afraid of breaking me, and stroked the edge of my lips with his thumb. I closed my eyes and turned my face to kiss his palm. Then I licked his thumb, took it into my mouth, and sucked on it while looking him straight in the eyes.

—Since when? —he asked, almost voiceless.

—Since I stopped being a little girl —I answered.

Without breaking eye contact, I began unfastening his belt. My fingers were shaking so badly I couldn’t get the buckle right. He didn’t help me or stop me. He stayed still in the chair, hands on the armrests, breathing hard. When I lowered the zipper, his cock popped out of his briefs almost on its own. Thick, hard, the tip shining with a clear fluid. Bigger than I’d imagined when I was alone in bed.

—Lucía —he said, and there was one last attempt in his voice. An attempt that went nowhere.

I took hold of him with my hand. He felt hot, heavy, throbbing against my palm. I ran my thumb over the head and smeared it with his own fluid. He let out a low groan through his teeth and leaned his head back.

—I want to suck it —I said, and I surprised myself by saying it out loud.

I leaned in and ran my tongue from base to tip, slowly, tasting him. Then I took him into my mouth. At first only halfway, testing how much I could fit, breathing through my nose. I felt his thighs tremble. I took in with my hand what wouldn’t fit in my mouth and started moving it in the same rhythm, sucking the head, circling my tongue around it, going down to the base and back up again.

—Jesus, daughter —he said between his teeth, and put one hand on the back of my neck. He didn’t push me. He only stroked my hair, as if asking permission.

Hearing the word “daughter” said like that, with his cock in my mouth, almost made me come without touching myself. I slid one hand under my dress, shoved my panties aside, and started touching myself while I kept sucking him. I sucked him hungrily, making noise on purpose, slobbering all over his cock until the string of spit ran all the way down to his balls. I licked those too. I sucked them one by one while I kept jerking him with my hand.

—Come here —he said hoarsely, grabbing me under the arms and lifting me up—. Come here before I finish in your mouth.

He pulled me onto his lap and kissed me. A dirty kiss, open-mouthed, tasting himself on my tongue. Through the fabric of my dress I felt him hard against my cunt, and a shiver ran through me. I started grinding against him, rubbing myself, soaking his pants.

—This is crazy —he said against my neck, kissing the skin just below my ear.

—Then don’t stop —I begged him—. Fuck me, daddy. Fuck me already.

He slipped the straps of my dress down one by one, unhurried, looking me in the eyes with each movement, giving me a thousand chances to back out that I didn’t want to take. The fabric fell to my waist and I was left in front of him in the lace bra I’d chosen precisely for that moment. My nipples stood hard through the sheer lace. He pulled it down with his teeth, first on one side and then the other, and sucked my tits while I tangled my hands in his hair.

—You knew what you were going to do —he said, running his eyes over me.

—I dreamed about it all week —I confessed—. All week I touched myself thinking about your cock.

He lifted me in his arms as if I weighed nothing and laid me back on his bed. He stood there for a moment, watching me, and I took the chance to finish taking off my dress and stay only in my panties. I shoved them aside with two fingers and showed him my cunt, wet, shining with desire, the lips swollen and parted.

—Look at what you did to me —I told him—. Look at how you got me, daddy.

My heart was pounding in my ears. He finished taking off his clothes while looking at me there, open for him. He took off his shirt. I had seen him shirtless a thousand times in my life, but never like this, never with that hard cock pointed at me. He lay down beside me and kissed me long and deep while one hand slid down my stomach and his fingers slipped under the elastic of my panties.

When he shoved two fingers in all at once, I arched my back and a sound escaped me that I tried to cover by biting my lip. He moved them inside me, curling them, searching for that spot I’d never been able to find by myself. When he found it, it shook me to the core.

—My mom —I managed to say.

—She sleeps until six —he answered against my mouth—. We’ve got time. We’ve got all the time in the world for me to finish inside you.

That sentence, said like that, without guilt, melted me completely. He finally stripped off my panties and opened my legs with both hands. He went down my body with kisses, sucking my navel, my hip bone, the inner skin of my thighs, and when he got to my cunt he stayed there a long while. He licked me slowly, from bottom to top, parting my lips with the tip of his tongue. He sucked my clit with his lips, tugging gently, and then circled it with his tongue until I started shaking. He slid two fingers into me while he kept eating me, and he didn’t stop even when I gripped the headboard with both hands and came screaming against the pillow. He kept sucking me while I came, until the very last spasm, swallowing everything that came out of me.

—Daddy —I moaned, and the forbidden word sounded more obscene than anything else—. Daddy, fuck me now, I can’t take it anymore.

He climbed back up my body with kisses, his mouth still shining with me. I took off the rest of his clothes with clumsy hands and grabbed his cock. I guided it myself to my cunt. I ran the tip along my wet lips, up and down, until we both moaned at the same time.

—Put it in me —I begged—. Put it all in me at once.

When our bodies finally met completely, he pushed in slowly but without stopping until he sank all the way in. We both went still for a second, holding each other’s gaze, aware there was no way back now. He felt enormous inside me, filling me, touching places no finger had ever reached.

—Look at me —he asked, just like I’d wanted him to look at me all those weeks—. I want to see your face. I want to see your face while I fuck you.

And I looked at him. I looked at him the whole time, while he moved slowly and then harder, while I clung to his back and wrapped my legs around his waist. I didn’t look away for a single second, because that was it, exactly that, what I had wanted so badly: to exist for him that way. To have him ram into me to the hilt while looking at me the way he was looking at me. To make the bed frame creak with every thrust. To hear my name slip from his teeth every time he sank in.

—Like that, daddy, like that —I moaned in his ear—. Don’t stop, don’t stop.

He flipped me over onto my stomach without pulling out. He lifted me by the waist and put me on all fours. He grabbed my hair with one hand and my hip with the other, and started fucking me from behind, hard, marking the rhythm with slaps on my ass that left my skin burning. I buried my face in the pillow so nothing would be heard, but moans escaped me anyway, muffled, guttural. I felt every inch of him going in and out, the wet sound of my soaked cunt, his balls slapping my clit with every thrust.

—Tell me you’re mine —he said, pulling my hair—. Tell me.

—I’m yours —I said, and it was true—. I’m yours, daddy, all yours.

He flipped me over again, laid me on my back, spread my legs until my knees almost touched my ears. He pushed into me again and this time it was different, slower, deeper, watching me. He sucked my tits while he moved. He sucked my fingers when I brought them to his mouth. He stroked my clit with his thumb until I started shaking again.

—I’m coming, I’m coming —I warned him—. Daddy, I’m coming.

—Come on, my love, come on —he said—. Come for me.

And I came. I came squeezing his cock with my cunt so hard that a few seconds later he blew too, buried to the hilt, spilling into me in shot after shot, growling softly against my neck. I felt every pulse of his cock finishing inside me. I felt the heat filling me. I didn’t care about anything. I wrapped my legs around his waist so he wouldn’t pull out, so he’d stay there, inside, until the last drop.

I finished with my face hidden in his neck, biting his shoulder so I wouldn’t scream. He followed a few seconds later, holding me so tightly he almost cut off my air.

When he finally pulled out, I felt a warm thread dripping between my thighs. I lowered my hand and touched myself. I brought my fingers to my mouth. His semen. My father’s semen on my tongue. He watched me do it and I saw his cock moving again little by little, still shining with me.

***

After that we stayed in silence, my head on his chest, listening to his heart slowly calm down. Outside, the afternoon was beginning to fade. At some point we would have to get up, dress, go back to being father and daughter as if nothing had happened. I could still feel his fingers moving slowly between my legs, playing with what he himself had left inside me.

—And now what? —I asked softly.

—I don’t know —he admitted, stroking my hair—. But I don’t regret it. May God forgive me, but I don’t regret it.

—Are we going to do it again? —I asked, and ran my tongue over his nipple.

I felt his cock stir again against my thigh.

—Tomorrow at this time —he told me in my ear—. And the day after. And every day your mother sleeps her nap.

I pressed myself against him and smiled.

The phone was still on the desk, with the first photos he’d taken of me still saved. I thought those images were the only innocent thing that would remain from that afternoon, and I almost laughed.

I know this isn’t something I can tell anyone. Not my mom, who sleeps three doors away, not my friends, not anyone in the world. It’s a secret that’s going to weigh more every day, I know it. But tonight, for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel that buzz in my head.

I only feel him, still warm beside me, his cock resting against my hip, his hand between my legs, and the certainty that I’ve already taken the step with no way back. And that, whatever happens tomorrow, I’ll never be able to pretend again that I feel nothing. That I don’t want more. That I won’t go looking for him as soon as my mom falls asleep.