Author's Note: This is a story about a woman who is very inhibited, who meets a man, and starts working out some of her issues with him.
One of her issues is that she has incest fantasies, and she opens up and talks about them, though no actual incest or specific incest fantasies are described.
There is a very mild d/s dynamic to this story. The male character has some pretty light domination fantasies. There is a lot of Daddy talk, and they enact a Daddy fantasy but I wouldn't call it role play per se.
But these little fetish-y things are really incidental to the story, which is about two people dealing with their fantasies, in the context of a relationship.
So Fair Warning!! If incest fantasy, Daddy, or d/s does NOT appeal to you, please do not progress!!
The Beginning
Beth Lambert wanted to change her life. She didn't know how, she didn't know when, but something had to give.
She had a great job, friends, a beautiful apartment, she was slim and fit and, so she was often told, very pretty. She should have been happy, but she wasn't, and she knew why. She was 27 years old, and she had yet to have "great sex." She thought about it constantly. What was wrong with her? Why had this eluded her for so long? She had had boyfriends come and go, she had come close, but no mind-blowing, earth-shattering, or even just plain amazing sex had ever happened. It just hadn't, and she knew it. She felt like she was waiting, waiting. She just didn't get it.
Her girlfriends and sisters seemed to have no problem fucking their brains out--with strangers, boyfriends, husbands. She heard stories of their orgasms, their hot sex and random encounters and she felt like a complete dolt. She was a total dud in bars and nightclubs. Men would come up to her all the time and she would be stiff and cold, even if she liked them. She had experiences that would start great, but that always ended early, or trailed off into awkwardness. One time she had been in the middle of having pretty good sex with one guy and she had just stopped it, for no reason. Or, for a reason she didn't understand. She just seemed unable to go all the way mentally.
She thought of it as her "sexual problem," though she certainly had no problems on her own, masturbating. She had a very active fantasy life, and she could make herself cum in a hundred ways. But she could not, or would not, let this sexuality out with a man.
Sometimes she thought she "just hadn't met the right person." But she knew damn well she had had many opportunities with the "right" man and she had still failed. If she was in love, in a committed relationship, it would probably be easier to work it out...but that wasn't happening anytime soon, and what was she supposed to do, live like a nun until it did?
She didn't necessarily think falling in love and getting married was the solution. The only thing she could think was that she needed a lover, the right kind of lover for her. But she also knew if she actually said that she would only attract assholes.
It was spring. It was so beautiful outside. The days were getting warmer. For the past few weeks she had felt pressure inside her, building and building. She was in a mood. At night she would stand at the window or out on the balcony smelling the new scents in the air, her whole being tingling and aching.
She started having a series of very vivid dreams. In one dream, she stood in front of a huge, beautiful turquoise lake. It was so gorgeous, so deep and inviting, but she never went in. She just stood and looked at it. In others, there were storms. Huge storm clouds on the horizon getting closer, then raging torrents that threatened to flood her house and she would wake up in a sweat.
She was someone whose outer and inner selves did not match, not at all. There were reasons for that, but Beth had not really wanted to delve into them.
She was stuck, in life and in love.
***
Across town, in the big city in which she lived, there was a man who also standing on his balcony breathing in the spring air, looking at the glimmering lights. He was 45. He stood in a t-shirt and boxers, thinking.
He was a cop—a detective, had been one for 15 years. He investigated soft crime—theft, fraud, political corruption. He'd never come near a murder. It was a good job, a good, satisfying career, and he had risen about as far as he could go. His work didn't consume him as it used to. There was nothing holding him back, now, from meeting someone. What else was there to do with life? But he had no idea how or where or when or who.
He had been divorced now for two years, and he was ready to move on. He was not neurotic in any way, had no deep-seated issues. He'd enjoyed a wonderful, fulfilling relationship for as long as it had lasted, until it had all turned to shit. But, shit happens. He had dealt with it. Now, he wanted try again.
He wasn't necessarily looking to jump into marriage again, but he wanted more than "casual sex." He, too, wanted a lover. A partner, for a while at least. The right one. A good match. And he knew that a.) that was not easy to find and b.) you couldn't control it. It either happened or it didn't.
So, he was waiting. Looking, longing a little, but still just...waiting. He'd know it when he found it, of that much he was sure.
***
It took an ordinary incident to bring these two together, not when either one was trying or thinking about it, but just going about everyday life.
Beth worked out every day at a gym, and one night her car got stolen.
She came out from her workout tired and sweaty, ready to go immediately crash at home, walked to the garage and just as she was figuring out that her car was somehow NOT where she had parked it, she heard tires squealing and saw her car—her own car!—peeling out of the garage. She got a glimpse of two guys in the front seat, two young assholes, one blonde and one dark-haired. Holy fuck! Do these things really happen? Apparently so! It was a city, after all, but damn was she pissed. That car was only one year old and she needed it for everything! How was she going to get to work?
She immediately called 911. It was late, about 10:00. She yelled at the operator, "My car just got stolen! I SAW the assholes who took it!"
"Ma'am, ok, calm down, where are you?"
She gave them all her info and sat and waited. How would she get home? What the FUCK! She got on the horn and called her friends, her sister, crying. She was still crying when the cop car pulled up and a really fat, tired-looking cop in a uniform got out.
He was so blasé. Like he'd heard it all a million times. He took all her info, but when she told him she had seen who'd driven it away, he got more interested.
"Is that so? Do you think you could remember them if you saw them again?"
"Yes, of course, I got a good look at them."
"Well, we've had a bunch of these robberies lately and it sounds like our guys. Do you think you would mind coming into the station and talking to one of our detectives?"
"What, now?!"
"No, no ma'am. Here, here's my card. It's got the address on it, see? It's right down the street. Look, I've got all your information here, we'll be looking for it all night. But it would be great if you could come down to the station tomorrow, anytime."
"Well, sure, if you think that would help."
"It would. Now, do you need a ride home?"
***
She knew the police station. It was only a few blocks away. She passed it every day. She got dressed in the morning and went over.
It was all completely familiar to her, because her dad had been a cop, in a different part of the same city. She'd spent half her life in police stations. Even now, being 27, she could not drive by one without feeling warm and safe and protected, because she so closely associated them with her father, who she had deeply loved. She grew up and became a lawyer, which she supposed was in the same line of work.
She went in and spoke to the receptionist, who told her to "Wait over there, ma'am." She knew the drill. She knew the wood, she knew the benches, she knew the linoleum floor, the fluorescent lights. How many days after school had she spent waiting on the same benches after her father had said "Now wait here while Daddy finishes up, and don't move!" Everything—the smells, especially—brought it all back. She felt like she was coming back home, even though it was because her damn car had been stolen.
She waited for what seemed like forever. Finally, while she was checking her phone for the umpteenth time, she heard a deep voice say, "Ms. Lambert?"
She looked up, and a weird feeling came over her. She didn't know what it was at first because she had never felt it before. It was pure, unexplainable lust, without rhyme or reason. She saw this man and an image instantly flashed through her mind of him fucking a woman from behind. Bending her over. Not necessarily her. Just a woman. Any woman.
This had never happened to her before. She'd found some men cute, she knew she'd been attracted to some, but nothing like this. She saw him and she knew she wanted to have sex with him. No—to be precise, she knew she wanted him to FUCK her. She never used that word to describe sex, but that's what she thought.
He wasn't "cute." He wasn't gorgeous or hot or ripped or anything. He was older and average looking. Tall, blonde, big hands, freckles, "not her type." That's all she registered. That, and "sex."
