A Daughter’s Plan
Oca 7, 2021 // By:analsex // No Comment
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Author’s note: It should go without saying, but all characters in this story are above the age of consent.
This is my first attempt at erotic fiction and takes inspiration from TheTalkMan’s “Tastes Like Candy”. If you’ve read that and liked it, then hopefully you’ll like this as well. If you haven’t, why not? That story is amazing. This story deals with cheating, betrayal, degradation, cuckolding, and, of course, incest. So, please feel free to skip it, if that doesn’t align with your interests.
I have four more parts of this story mapped out in my head, but since just writing this took a long time, I may not bother writing the others if there isn’t demand. So, let me know if you like it and would appreciate more.
Jessica sat in a hospital room, bored. Looking at her cell phone, switching back and forth between apps, not really paying attention to any of them. Waiting for her Mom, Sarah, to regain consciousness.
“Jess-” her Mom managed to croak out.
“I should have told you.”
“Told me what, Mom?” Something was off about her Mother’s tone. You could tell the drugs hadn’t worn off yet. Her Mom couldn’t really handle that kind of stuff. Even alcohol. One glass and she was on the moon.
“About your father.” Sarah continued on.
“You mean, Greg?” Jessica said with a look disgust on her face, “Mom, you know I fucking hate it when you called him my Dad. You were married for what, like 1 year, and that was like 8 years ago. He was a total prick, and-“
“No, you’re real father.” Sarah interrupted.
“Mom, take it easy. You’re still coming out from the anesthesia. You’re not making any sense.”
“I never told you-” Sarah said, seeming to lose her train of thought.
“Mom, you always told me. You told me you had no idea who my real Dad was… And the way you are around men, I’m not surprised.”
Even through the medication Sarah registered the barb, and replied snidely with, “No, the truth.”
“His name is Rick. Rick Johnson. He lives out in the suburbs with his perfect wife and his… his… fucking mansion and his… his…” Sarah trailed off slurring as she tried to sit up, before slinking back down into the inclined hospital bed.
“What?!” Jessica yelled, “You always said… In a… In a fucking mansion? Mom, we’ve bounced around from one shitty two bedroom apartment to another ever since I can remember. Half your boyfriends have leeched off of you for god knows how much of what little money we had. I had to get a job at 15 just to make ends meet. We barely have a pot to piss in, and my Dad is a fucking millionaire?”
“The bastard didn’t want me?”
“Well fuck him then.”
“I did.” Sarah laughed, giggling in her medicated haze.
“No, Mom. You should have sued his ass for child support.” Jessica said shaking her head, realizing this conversation probably wasn’t going to go anywhere productive.
“Oh? Oh, not you. Me. He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t know anything about you.”
“He doesn’t even know I exist?” Jessica said. Her voice half full of rage at her Mother and half full of tears as she began to comprehend the situation.
“Nope.” Sarah said, matter of factly. Giggling again.
“Jesus, Mom! Fuck you. I’m fucking out of here.” Jessica said, gathering her purse and jacket and phone.
“Wait! You can’t leave me. I’m dying here.”
“Oh, shut up you old hag. You’re not dying. You had minor fucking cosmetic surgery. You’re just out of it because you’re high as a kite from the pain pills and whatever else they’ve got you on.” Jessica said, walking out the door.
“Oh?” Sarah said, still not fully comprehending that she wasn’t actually at death’s door. “Oh, this is some good shit. I hope the send me home with some of these pills.”
Although Sarah was only 42 – and looked 10 years younger – she’d felt the need to get the plastic surgery to keep pace with her daughter. Jessica had turned 18 this year and had grown into an absolute knock-out. She had a body that could only occur with the right mix of good genes, youth, and training for the high school track team. She had long, lean legs and a perfectly flat stomach. Large breasts that were somehow both soft and perky at the same time. A firm, round, bubble butt that would draw stares and gaped jaws when she wore yoga pants in public. Big sensuous lips, a thin nose with just enough character, high cheekbones, and big, dark brown eyes. She was perpetually tan and could look beautiful even without make-up. But, when she put on make-up she could look much more mature and easily pass for mid twenties. Her hair was a deep brown, almost black, and although usually pulled up into a pony tail near the top of her head, it looked like goddamn shampoo commercial when she let it down. She was the perfect, all-American, girl next door. With just a pinch of something vaguely exotic. And of course a streak of mischief that let everyone know – deep down – there was something naughty there.
She reminded bahis firmaları Sarah of herself at that age. And although Sarah hadn’t aged much, she’d begun noticing small signs of time’s passage more and more as of late. Her boyfriends had noticed too. Sarah liked men. A lot. She enjoyed their attention. The gifts they’d bring her. Their cocks. She seemed to have a knack for picking long term losing bets though. That never bothered her much as she preferred to move quickly from one to the next. Never wanting to be tied down. It always ended on her terms though. Or at least it used to.
A few of her most recent boyfriends had grown distant much sooner in the relationship. Not wanting to fuck as much. Now, Sarah always dated younger men. She liked to think of herself as a cougar, and in the bedroom? Well, most of them could barely keep up. The more they swore they could, the more she enjoyed pushing them to their limits. And breaking them. But lately, even the good ones seemed to lose interest before she’d been finished with them. Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that those men were paying more attention to Jessica than her.
She’d catch them giving Jessica a sideways glance as she strutted by in her workout clothes. Or, abruptly stopping a private conversation with Jessica when Sarah entered the room. In a few cases, even showing up at her home when only Jessica was around. Under the pretense that they were there waiting there for Sarah, of course. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more going on. Which is why she was here now, laying in a hospital bed – no ride home – recovering from plastic surgery. She’d need to be on a payment plan for years just to cover the cost, but you gotta keep up with the regular maintenance.
Jessica drove away from the hospital furious.
“Fucking Mom, cunt! I can’t believe she… Ugh… God! You know? I’m glad I fucked your boyfriends now. Bitch!”
Upon returning to her apartment, she packed a bag, and stuck around long enough to Google Rick Johnson. She found a few hits, but narrowed it down to 41-year-old, Richard K. Johnson, who lived about 50 minutes outside of the city in one of the wealthier suburbs and owned his own construction company. No pictures, but she was pretty sure it was him based on his age and what her Mom had told her.
She mapped his address, said goodbye to the shitty two-bedroom apartment that she’d called home for the past 18 months, and then swore she’d never be back. In all honesty she was always intending to leave. This just accelerated her timeline and gave her a clear next move. She’d graduated high school a couple months ago, and although she didn’t have a steady job, bankroll, or viable opportunities, she knew she couldn’t stay here any longer without risking turning completely into her mother. Yes, she fucked some of her Mother’s boyfriends. But that’s not how she was going to end up. Not like her. She had goals. And ambition. Maybe she’d become some rich old man’s sugar baby. Or scam a company out of a large settlement in a sexual harassment suit. God knows it wouldn’t be hard to get some old perv executive to hit on her. Or maybe hit it big as an Instagram girl. But as she left, heading for that mansion in the suburbs, she began to think about other possible options.
“Jesus Christ this thing is heavy!”
“Benny, don’t blaspheme.”
“Sorry, Mom.” Ben Johnson said as he struggled to bring an overstuffed couch up their basement stairs.
“Keep in mind, I’ve got the heavy end back here.” Ben’s Dad, Rick called out calmly. “So, if you can suck it up for 2 minutes, that would be greatly appreciated.”
“Take it easy, Richard.” admonished Beth, his wife. She adored Ben and proactively took his side in just about all disagreements. It had gotten even worse in the past half year as Ben’s impending departure for college loomed.
“At least when I get to school, I’ll be jacked from all this heavy lifting. Wait ’til the chicks get a load of these pipes.” Ben boasted.
“Take it easy there hot shot, you’re about to run into a-” Rick started but it was too late. In his haste, Ben had walked backward too quickly and pinched his hand between the couch and door frame.
“Ahh! Damnit!” Ben cursed as he nearly dropped the couch.
“Benny!” Scolded his mother.
“OK. Let’s just focus on getting this out to the truck.” called Rick from behind the large leather couch. He was surprisingly calm given that he was now shouldering pretty much the entire burden of keeping the couch stable as Ben balanced it between his knee and good hand, struggling to regain a grip with the hand he’d smashed. But that didn’t stop Beth from giving him a disapproving look as he passed through the front door that she was holding open for them.
After bringing the couch out and getting it situated in the back of Rick’s large, new truck, Ben said, “Dad… My hand’s really hurting. Is it OK if I take it easy and you carry out the rest of the stuff for me?”
Rick gave him a look exasperation. But, before he could kaçak iddaa respond, Beth jumped in with, “Oh, of course hon. You head in and I’ll be in in a minute to take a look.”
Ben made a weak attempt to hide his excitement and quickly scurried back into the house. Rick shook his head, and as he was about to say, “Really?” to his wife Beth, realized he’d waited for a half second too long.
“Jiminy Crickets, Richard. Why couldn’t we just buy him a couch when we got to the U?”
“Beth, first off, a little hard work is good for the boy. Second, he’s living in a Freshman dorm. He doesn’t need a new couch. His roommate is probably going to be sitting naked on it within 2 hours of us moving it in. Third, now that Ben’s gone and his friends won’t be coming over, we’ll never even use that second couch downstairs. Fourth, it gives me more room for my weight set-“
“OK, Richard.” At work he was sometimes Richard. When formality demanded it. But growing up, and in most social situations he was always, Rick. Nevertheless, Beth always made a point to call him by his full name and hit the second syllable a bit harder than necessary when she was disappointed with him. “Point taken.” Beth continued, and then paused to give him a look that said, I don’t want to argue about this anymore, but you didn’t win any points in this exchange. Not a big shocker for Rick.
“So, when do you think we’ll be ready to leave?” Beth continued.
“A little later than planned, now.” Rick retorted. Trying not to sound like an asshole.
“Well, I guess you’d better get moving then.” Beth said as she started walking back toward the house.
Rick sighed, shook his head, and under his breadth muttered, “Mission accomplished.”
In all honesty, there wasn’t that much left to move. Just a few boxes of clothes, some electronics, a desk chair, a bit of school stuff. And to be even more honest, having Ben involved wouldn’t really have been that much help anyway. Rick loved Ben, and always tried to do his best to be a father to him, but damn it if that kid wasn’t the laziest, most entitled, arrogant, little shit you ever met.
Maybe it was just this generation. Maybe he was just a kid of privilege, spoiled by his Mom. Maybe it was because Ben wasn’t Rick’s real son. He shook that last thought from his mind. A family secret. Ben didn’t know. They’d never found the right time to tell him. Which meant the less it was top of mind for Rick, the better.
Rick returned to the house and went up to Ben’s room to grab the rest of the boxes. Ben was playing video games on his cell phone, showing full dexterity with his injured hand, of course. Rick shook his head and returned to loading the truck.
About 30 minutes later, Rick had finished. “OK, all ready!” He called out from just inside the entryway. Beth and Ben eventually made their way down the stairs and out to the truck. Ben lagged because he had recently discovered a few more items that he was clumsily balancing in his arms and trying to stuff into a backpack, which was already about to burst at the seams. And Beth lagged because she was already fighting back tears, trying not to show it.
Jessica pulled into the subdivision where Rick Johnson lived, and although it wasn’t gated – and the homes weren’t new, but not exactly old enough to be classics either – they sure made the place she called home seem like an even bigger piece of shit than it already was. She hoped her beat-up Jetta didn’t look so out of place that anyone would call the cops. She drove slowly, looking for numbers on the houses, which weren’t easy to see across everyone’s massive front lawns.
When she realized she was close, she pulled her car over, far enough away from the house that she could prepare, and pulled down the sun visor to look at herself in the mirror. She adjusted her hair, applied a bit of shiny lip balm, and by the time she looked back at the house on the corner lot in front of her, she saw what she was looking for… Rick Johnson. It had to be him. And he was a stone cold stud. Tall with a wide frame. Muscular. He had short, dark, wavy hair that was just beginning to gray at the sides. A naturally tanned complexion and big, masculine hands that revealed a history of manual labor.
Following him were a scrawny teenage boy, with a mop of curly blonde hair that he struggled to keep out of his face, and a woman that was probably in her mid forties and looked every day of it. Sure, she had been classically pretty in her youth, and although she wasn’t out of shape, and she obviously took great pains to make herself look presentable, her demeanor was so prudish and her posture was so rigid, that she came off as a cold bitch rather than a hot mom.
Rick and the woman climbed into a clean, large truck filled with boxes and some furniture, and the boy continued on to a new, red Dodge Challenger. “Shit!” Jessica cursed to herself. “Where are they going?”
The woman rolled down her window and called out to the boy, “Now you drive safe, Benny! We’ll be right behind you and we’ll meet you kaçak bahis at the dorm. You have the address?”
“Yes, Mom.” The boy sighed with an almost artificial level of slacker-ness in his voice.
Jessica started her car. The plan had changed. To what, she didn’t exactly know yet. But she’d figure that out. She wanted it all and she would not be deterred. And as luck would have it, she’d have a few hours develop it on the car ride ahead. The perfect plan.
Rick drove behind Ben on the highway, struggling to keep up at times as Ben still seemed to be enamored with flooring it in his 18th birthday gift, and Rick was in a work vehicle, loaded down with a thousand extra pounds of gear.
“Slow down, Richard.” Beth chastised him.
“I’m trying to keep up with your son, Beth.”
“I know, I know, I didn’t mean it like that.” Rick said, trailing off. Not really loud enough for Beth to hear him, since it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Rick and Beth had grown increasingly distant throughout their 19 years of marriage. Little by little, day by day, almost imperceptibly, they’d become co-parents and roommates, not husband and wife. Rick was hoping that with Ben now out of the house, things might change.
Their marriage had never been very sexual, and at the beginning that had been fine for both of them. Rick had been a wild man in his younger years. Actually, he’d grown up on a farm. An only child to older parents, completely sheltered. The household was dysfunctional to say the least, but he didn’t dwell on it. He did what he was supposed to. He helped his Dad on the farm and his Mother in the house, until one day, he just couldn’t anymore. That one morning, he woke up, packed a bag and drove into the city, wondering why it had taken him so long.
He bounced around, held a few different jobs. His life was always in a slight state of unrest. As if one day he might just pick up again and go somewhere totally different. He spent most of his nights between the age of 20 and 22 drinking with his buddies and sleeping with a different woman every night. He had done quite well, but could never shake the faint feeling that he was letting his life slip away. Like he wasn’t really living up to his potential.
He desperately didn’t want to be one of those guys. The kind that grew old, feeling every day, that his best days were behind him. He didn’t want to look up one day from the gutter. A functional alcoholic. Same old routine. Drinking. Laughing. Fucking. Repeat. Just waiting out the clock. He had never gone to college, but he was bright, hardworking, and people seemed to naturally gravitate toward him. He had been working construction for a few months and felt like he had a real knack for it. He didn’t want to rule the world, but he wanted it to all stand for something.
And then, one day, his parents died. His father had gotten distracted while driving – probably arguing with his mother – skidded off the road, and flipped over into a ditch. They were on their way home from church. One of the only reasons they left the house. Rick inherited a failing farm and the all of debt that came with it. Not that he would have wanted to be a farmer anyway. The financials just gave him the motivation to sell it all. A few other farms in that area had already done so, making way for new housing developments and condominiums. Growing out to meet the city at the same time that it expanded to overtake them.
After the sale, Rick had just enough left over to retain a lot within the subdivision that now occupied the fields he’d played in as a child. And also to buy the materials needed to build a new house. His plan was do most of the work himself, call in a few favors from his old coworkers, and then to sell it and use the profits to start his own construction company. But, as he went, he put so much of himself into the house that he became more and more reluctant to let it go. The house was way too big for single guy. And the size of the plots would attract buyers in a tax bracket that he’d never really been exposed to before – and wasn’t really looking forward to living next to – but he loved that house.
And soon, there were other reasons to keep it. A few weeks after Rick’s parents’ death, he found himself driving to their church. The last place they’d been. He hadn’t planned on going, and he wasn’t entirely sure why he was. Some delayed stage of grief that had never been given a name? Some misdirected retribution for the hypocrisy of his family’s beliefs? Enjoying a nice drive on a perfectly fine evening?
When he arrived, a support group meeting for those who had lost loved ones just happened to be taking place. Completely out of character, Rick went in. He hated church. He wasn’t particularly sad. He had no reason to be there. But there was Bethany: obviously a staple in the church community, recently widowed, five months pregnant, clueless and scared about what lie ahead.
Beth wasn’t Rick’s usual type. She was conservative. Prim, proper, elegant. A refined lady. But what drew him to Beth was that she was in a place where she needed to be taken care of. Not financially – she came from old money and would never need to work a day in her life – but to be protected and nurtured.
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