AUTHOR: T. A. BEAU

TITLE: Inspecting My Sleeping Daughter's Pussy After She Fucks The Gardener

SUBTITLE: A NONCON Dad/Daughter Somnophilia Erotica Short Story with breeding and voyeurism.

Copyright © 2024 T. A. BEAU

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the writer and the publisher.

WORD COUNT: 4500 words

I step through the quiet villa, heading toward the pool, feeling a bit lighter than I have in months. The stillness wraps around me like a warm blanket, and I let myself breathe out all the tension from back home. This vacation in Marbella is supposed to be a family break-a chance to escape the chaos of my usual life and maybe rediscover some parts of myself that have been buried under work.

The open doors of the villa let in a soft afternoon breeze, and I catch a whiff of the ocean air mixed with the faintest hint of chlorine from the pool outside. I can feel the anticipation buzzing in my veins as I make my way through the house, ready to dive in and let the water wash away everything.

I’m halfway to the pool area when I hear a faint noise. It's distant, like a low murmur of voices or maybe someone laughing. I figure it's just someone from a neighboring villa, maybe having a good time by the pool. It’s nothing worth my attention; I’m here to relax, not to get involved in anyone else’s business. With a shrug, I head to my room to change.

Moments later, the towel slung over my shoulder, I make my way downstairs, ready for a long, quiet swim. I step outside and begin to turn toward the pool, a small smile on my lips.

But then I stop. My gaze lands on the poolside, and my smile freezes.

It takes me a second to register what I'm seeing. My daughter, my own daughter, is on her hands and knees at the pool’s edge. Her head is thrown back, her eyes shut in pleasure, and the gardener-the burly, muscular guy who barely speaks-has his hands firmly on her hips, moving against her with force and intensity that makes my stomach twist.

“Holy… what the…” I whisper, a shudder running through me as I stumble back a step. My breath catches, and I feel my hand fly up to cover my mouth as if it could somehow block out the scene in front of me.

A mix of emotions crashes over me-shock, disbelief, betrayal, and something darker that I can’t even name. I try to look away but find myself glued to the spot, unable to tear my eyes from the sight of them tangled together, oblivious to my presence.

My mind races. When did this happen? How long has this been going on? I can’t recall a single moment when I saw them even acknowledge each other. And yet here they are, right under my nose, wrapped up in something that’s both intensely raw and deeply wrong.

A sudden wave of anger surges through me, hot and sharp. My fists clench, and I feel my jaw tighten as I fight the urge to charge over there and rip them apart. But something holds me back, some twisted part of me that doesn’t want to interrupt, doesn’t want them to know I’m there.

As I watch, the gardener reaches out, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze as she moans. My stomach flips, the sound ringing in my ears, drilling deeper and deeper into my skull. I feel sick-angry, betrayed, humiliated. But I’m also aware of a pulse of something else, something darker and deeply uncomfortable, stirring in the pit of my stomach.

The scene continues for another breathless moment, and then, just as I see them nearing the edge of their orgasms, something I can’t bear to witness, I spin around, heart pounding, and bolt back into the villa.

I race up the stairs, hardly aware of my own movements. My mind is a chaotic mess of rage and confusion. The door to my room slams shut behind me, and I lock it with trembling fingers before stumbling to the bed, my heart still hammering.

“What the hell?” I hiss, fingers digging into my hair as I pace the room. I fling my towel onto a nearby chair, breathing hard. Every fiber of me screams to confront them, to march back down there and demand answers. I want to scream, to ask my daughter how she could do this to me, to ask the gardener what the hell he was thinking.

But I can’t. The words die in my throat. The image of her looking up at me, devastated, ashamed-it stops me cold. I don’t want to be the reason she feels that way. I can’t bear the idea of watching her shatter like that, even if she deserves it.

“Damn it,” I curse, raking my hands down my face. My pacing comes to a halt as I look down, feeling the heat of my own anger twisting into something else, something I don’t want to acknowledge. I swear under my breath, feeling a throbbing pulse that shocks me even more than the sight I just witnessed.

Another string of curses escapes me as I flop onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to force the image out of my mind. I’m angry, seething with betrayal, but there’s no denying the fire in my veins, the way my heart won’t stop racing, and the way my erect cock won't go down.

For a long moment, I lie there, feeling torn in two-wanting to storm back to the pool, demand answers, maybe even take a swing at the gardener, yet also feeling the weight of my own twisted reaction holding me back. The anger simmers, coiling tight in my chest, mingling with that unwanted bulge in my pants, something that leaves me feeling ashamed and furious all at once.

Eventually, I let out a slow breath, closing my eyes. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll be able to confront her and ask the questions I can’t bring myself to ask now. But tonight, I’m left alone with the rage, the betrayal, and the confusion swirling inside me, the darkness pulling me deeper into a pit I don’t know how to escape.

I lie there, staring up at the ceiling, my thoughts tangled, anger gnawing at me with every breath. I feel trapped, as if the walls are closing in around me, and the longer I wait, the more it burns. No. No way I’m going to wait until tomorrow. This isn’t something that can sit, simmering in silence. I need answers tonight, and I need them from both of them.

I swing my legs off the bed with a frustrated huff, determination sparking in my gaze. I stand, fists clenched, heart hammering as I make my way out of the room. My footsteps echo through the villa as I head straight back to the pool, barely aware of anything around me but the simmering anger fueling me forward.

I slow as I approach the pool, bracing myself for whatever confrontation might come next. I’m ready to demand an explanation, to shout, to release all the rage boiling inside me. But when I step onto the pool deck, the sight that greets me steals the words from my mouth.

My daughter is lying there, sprawled across the floor, completely naked. Her body is looking so vulnerable, with faint marks on her skin from where the gardener must have held her. There’s an empty wine bottle lying beside her, and my eyes narrow as I realize she probably drank the whole thing with me. The anger flares hotter, but it’s accompanied by a strange, hollow ache that I can’t push away.

Cum spills from between her legs, a crude reminder of what I witnessed earlier. The sight both repulses and pulls at me, a mix of emotions that leaves me feeling off-balance and uncertain. I clench my jaw, my fists tightening, as I force myself to look away for a moment, to take a steadying breath. It’s all too much, too raw. And the emptiness left behind by the gardener’s absence leaves an itch that only fuels my frustration further.

I swallow, my gaze lingering on her, a mixture of anger and something else tightening my throat.

I step closer, my feet quiet against the tiles as I kneel beside her. I tell myself I’m just going to check on her, to make sure she’s okay, but my gaze doesn’t stray from her body.

My eyes trace her curves, the way her skin glows in the soft light, and I can’t help but notice the slight flush to her cheeks, the way her lips are parted, her face still faintly showing traces of the pleasure she experienced.

My breath catches, and I feel my own body react, a pulse of heat that I try to push down, to ignore. But I can’t stop myself from looking, from taking in every inch of her exposed form. My gaze trails from her shoulders down to her waist, my eyes lingering on the gentle curve of her hips and the softness of her thighs.

I reach out without thinking, my hand hovering just above her skin, hesitating. I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know why I feel this strange, twisted urge to touch her.

I need something. I need to remind myself that she's my daughter. I stop myself, clenching my hand into a fist, forcing myself to pull back to keep that distance.

As I kneel there, staring down at her, a mixture of emotions wash over me-anger, betrayal, desire, confusion. I can’t make sense of it all, can’t understand why I feel drawn to her after what I’ve seen, even knowing she's my own daughter. But the sight of her, lying there vulnerable and exposed, stirs something deep within me, something I don’t want to acknowledge.

I lean in closer, my gaze never leaving her as I allow myself a brief, stolen moment of weakness. My eyes roam over her face, down to the soft lines of her neck and the delicate rise and fall of her chest. I swallow, my pulse quickening, as I run my tongue over my lower lip, feeling a wave of conflicted emotions washing over me.