Hello again everyone for the third part of Two Horny. I thank everyone for their feedback, and I hope those of you who have read the second part were not too disappointed. I know some readers have mentioned they didn't like the direction that one took and want the dad kept out of it, and to that I say I'm sorry, and you might not want to read this one then. This part focuses on Jess and her dad, in particular the history between them that was hinted at in Part One.
Thank you to those who have posted comments or left feedback ― I do try to take it onboard, and I hope you're not too disappointed the story hasn't proceeded in the direction you would like (and to advocates of Jess/Drew, they will feature again in the future).
As always, all characters are older than eighteen.
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I left Drew to his childish sulking in his room and headed downstairs and then outside into my shed, where I hoped I could get a measure of peace and privacy in which to examine my own problems. I was wracked with guilt and fear over what I'd done with my daughter, and not just last night. She and I had been intimately involved before, a spontaneous once-off occasion which I'd since done my best to try to forget.
I kept trying to justify what I'd done to myself, but all my excuses sounded flimsy and hollow to my ears, and I dreaded what Casey would say when I told her. I tried to tell myself it was just a father-daughter hug, but I knew I was kidding myself. Fathers don't stare at their daughter's breasts as they hug them, or cup their ass and grind up against them. The memory of the lust I felt at that moment haunted me and frightened me with its sudden, unexpected intensity.
The fact that I had seen that lust echoed on Jess's face and in her eyes was even worse.
I didn't know what to do. I knew the right thing was talk to both my wife and daughter about it, but I dreaded both conversations. Casey would be disturbed and devastated, and I knew she might very well leave me. My marriage could be ruined by one moment of stupidity, but concealing it from her was killing me. I had no idea how the talk with my daughter could go.
My insides churned unhappily and I couldn't help shaking my head ruefully. Under ordinary circumstances, a night with the Mercers left both Casey and I feeling relaxed and satisfied. The Mercers were the last couple from our youth that we kept in touch with, and as such were the only couple we still swung with. We'd known the Mercers so long they were almost family ― my mind caustically reminded me that the key word there was 'almost' ― and we enjoyed getting together at least once a month.
Which was, I reflected, probably part of the problem with Casey in the first place.
When we'd first met and started dating, Casey had been almost insatiable. After our first time together she'd been keen for it almost all the time, and we'd spent much of our first six months together in a haze of passion and lust. I'd never been happier than those first six months, and even afterwards when we slowed down a little, we were still having sex every two or so days. This slowed down a little further after we'd gotten married and both started working, but that was because we were both busy rather than out of a lack of interest ― our weekends were still often dominated by indoor activities.
Even after Casey got pregnant with Jess we kept going at it, and after she was born. I had heard from most of married friends that after the baby was born and that's where all Casey's attention would be, but we still always managed to find time for one another. We kept going on regular dates, where we'd end up having quieter, but no less enjoyable, sex while the baby slept in another room. I assumed we would continue on this path and we had, until the night with the Mercers.
It was a drunken mistake at a New Years party. Alice's brother had challenged Paul and I to a beer pong match, and we'd accepted, getting pretty drunk in the process. Our wives had also been drinking a little themselves, enough so that when I crept up on Alice in the early hours of the morning, neither of us realised straight away that the other person wasn't who it was meant to be. I'd fucked Alice hard, not realising that the woman under me wasn't Casey until I had shot my load inside her.
I'd almost died with guilt and, after apologising drunkenly and profusely, staggered to tell my wife. But to my shock she was lying on her hands and knees just outside the room with Paul furiously humping her from behind. She and Paul had stumbled across Alice and I and, to even the score, fucked each other. By all rights this should have destroyed our friendship, but we all decided to just let it go. It was alcohol and bad judgement. I had resolved to never speak of it again, so it was a shock when a week later Alice and Casey approached Paul and I with a proposal: that we get together every now and then for some swinging fun.
We'd been doing it for years. After the initial weirdness wore off it was great fun. Alice was shorter and slightly larger than Casey, but that just meant her curves had greater emphasis, something I loved. Her breasts were larger too and, as of late, her pussy was a bit tighter than Casey's as well. For his part Paul had always had a thing for slim blondes, and was almost too eager to sample my wife whenever possible, although it was hard to justify my jealously when I was a few metres away, thrusting into Alice.
So swinging with the Mercers was fun and I accepted it, although it wasn't necessarily a part of my ideal image of life with Casey. But where those nights were once just chances for full-blown, all-night wild sex, they were becoming my only chance for sex. Casey was pulling away from me, and I found that lately I was fucking Alice more often than I was my own wife and, more disturbingly, Paul was fucking Casey more than I was. He and I were good friends, but I couldn't help remember how he'd stolen girlfriends of mine in past and not feel a shiver of apprehension.
It probably also didn't help that Alice had called me last week and told me she suspected Paul of having an affair.
The door to my shed swung open and Casey stepped through, knocking me out of my reflective mood. "Yes dear?"
"Did you speak to Andrew?" she asked. I suppressed a frown at both her tone and the fact she insisted on calling him Andrew. He had long made it clear he preferred to be called Drew, but she had yet to give it up. It was still an issue between them, and I was sick of the arguments. From both sides.
"Yes. He is not happy about it, but he agreed to go past sometime tomorrow after his homework is done," I told her, and she screwed up her face in a frown.
"He has to go past today," Casey said. "In fact I'm leaving in five minutes, so I can drop him off if he comes now."
I immediately made myself look busy, shifting some tools around purposefully. "Well you better go and tell him then," I said, making it damn clear I wasn't going to deliver this news for her. "Unless of course you'd just rather I drop him off tomorrow."
There, I'd provided her with an alternative option so she could avoid a row with her son. But did she take it? No. Casey swept off to the house, and I closed my door and sat down, wondering how twenty-two years of marriage had led to this. I'd been married to Casey for half of my life now, and what things had never seemed worse.
Anyway, she was gone now, taking Drew with her (I knew he would go. Casey would give him little choice), which just left Jess and I home. My mind immediately returned to our encounter in her bedroom, and beyond that the incident where I'd caught her smuggling alcohol out of the house...
