Up on the Hillside with Amber

After the last submission – Timmy's Step-mother gets Supersized – got such a pounding (and not in a good way!), I thought I'd put one up for the incest purists.

This one is a Daddy/daughter tale. The car breaks down close to Jonathon's destination. He walks the last mile to the cottage and finds his daughter nude in the garden.

Etc.

It's set in England, and I use English vernacular. Some phrases may be unfamiliar to other readers.

Without being condescending, a Hillman was a make of car way back when, a Foden is a truck, which I think I describe as a lorry at some point. I use 'twat' to describe female genitalia a couple of times. Pussy isn't a word an English girl would use back in the 70s – at least I don't think so. Plimsolls are a type of old-fashioned running shoe.

Anyway, I hope these points don't have too much of a negative impact on the flow for a reader.

Feedback is appreciated.

Apologies for any errors which may remain in the text.

I hope you enjoy the tale.

Thank you for reading.

GA – Da Nang, Vietnam – 25th of April 2016.

***

1973

Jonathon pushes the Hillman as close as he can to the hedge, then walks the last mile to the cottage. It's Sunday, which means there are no heavy vehicles lumbering up and down the lane to the quarry. It's also a hot afternoon and, by the time Jonathon arrives at the blue gate, he's ready for a long drink of water – and a cold beer.

He's just reaching for the latch when he sees her on the lawn, the grass like green baize, the girl, youthful and lithe, laid on her front on a plaid blanket.

Jonathon is about to call out hello when he realises she's stark naked, no bikini strap across her back, no briefs protecting her modesty.

He pauses, throat working, his body responding to the sight of her bare form, the bucolic setting under the high summer sky setting the juices flowing within.

Jonathon gapes in confusion for several seconds, conflicting emotions rising inside him. His mind is cleaved in two, morality and decency suggesting he turn around and walk away. He should make his approach obvious to give the girl time to react, so she can get covered up before he sticks his head over the gate. But, way down deep in some dark and clandestine place, carnal urges compel him to stare at his daughter as she soaks up the sun. Jonathon knows he shouldn't be there this way. He knows it's sordid and wrong. Spying on his daughter as she lies there oblivious is a despicable act, but he can't quite bring himself to tear his attention away from what he thinks are the girl's exquisite curves.

She's just so lovely laid out as she is – natural and free with the sun warming her shoulders and the long sweep of her back, her bare buttocks so ripe and adorable...

The incongruous thought of

I hope you don't burn

pops into his head, with Amber choosing that very moment to turn over.

Jonathon feels the desire swell up from his core. He swallows again, gulping down on the urge to unzip his flies and haul out his length.

He remains perfectly still, gaping at the front of his daughter's body, his eyes going from her face to her breasts and down over her tummy. He boggles at what looks to be a wisp of light smoke decorating her mound, the girl's pubic bush so fair and delicate he can see the crease of her sex as she stands to throw a glance up to the sky, shielding her eyes with a salute as she checks the angle of the sun and her shadow laid out on the blanket.

Jonathon is fully aware movement attracts the eye, so he remains perfectly still, illicit desires curdling his guts as he continues to soak up the detail of his own daughter's nude body, guts churning with anxiety as he hopes she doesn't happen to throw a look in his direction.

To his immense relief, she settles down on her back, face directed up towards the sky, sighing as she closes her eyes.

He's reluctant to leave, but eventually does after a last lingering stare at the girl on the blanket.

Distracted, Jonathon walks back along the lane, getting as far as the chapel set in its glade some hundred yards from the road. He opens the old wrought-iron gate and moves along the path to sit in the shade of the lych-gate, his mind in turmoil at what he's just done.

He leaves it ten minutes before sighing and standing, brushing the dust from the seat of his jeans.

When he gets back to the cottage, he sees she's still laid out in all her naked glory, but at least he's prepared for the encounter this time.

"Bloody hell, Amber!" he cries, turning away from the gate to avert his eyes as she levers up onto her elbows and forearms. "Put some bloody clothes on, will you!"

1976

The shrill ring of the phone is insistent. "All right," he says before muttering a curse. "I'm bloody-well coming."

"Dad?" Jonathon hears when he holds the receiver up to his ear.

"Yes, sweetie, it's me," he replies. "How are you, darling?"

There's a pause before Amber says, "I ... I need to get away from here, daddy. I keep seeing him and it hurts when I do."

Jonathon feels the rise of anger inside him. "Is he bothering you...?"

"No," says his daughter. "He's kept his distance. I just keep on seeing him in all the old places. I was wondering ... Do you mind if I use the cottage for a few weeks? I've checked the diary, there aren't any bookings."

Jonathon's reply is immediate. "Of course not," he says. "It's yours as much as mine."

As he says it, Jonathon's mind takes him back to that time, back to when the damnable car had broken down and he'd been forced to walk along the lane. To when he saw Amber laid out on the lawn.

"I was thinking of going over myself," Jonathon adds, his voice cracking in response to his sudden erection.

There's a long silence before he hears Amber say, "That'd be nice, daddy. It's supposed to be warm at the weekend."

His Adam's apple bounces, anticipation gripping his stomach when his daughter says, "We could go walking over the hill. We could take a picnic up there."

There's another pause, with Jonathon's throat too constricted for him to make any reply.

"You know, like we did before..." his daughter ends on a whisper.

"That would be lovely," Jonathon says, the words coming up as a half-choked gurgle. He's reeling from the implications of what he says next. "I ... I could drive over on Saturday morning. When were you thinking of going?"

Amber tells him, "Tonight. I really do need to get away from this place."

The call ends a few moments later.

"See you on Saturday," Jonathon says to his daughter.

"All right. Love you, dad."

There's a click. She's gone. Jonathon replaces the handset into its cradle, then goes to his library where he pours a generous measure of whisky into a cut-glass tumbler.

"Oh God," Jonathon whispers to himself as he settles into the big leather chair. "Oh shit, oh fuck ... Amber..." he breathes.

1973

They start at 4 a.m.

Jonathon is in the room at the gable-end of the cottage closest to the road, the heavy Fodens going along the lane with their loads of limestone rousing him from slumber.

He sits up in bed, in the room he had as a child, blinking at the daylight already bright beyond the curtains.

His first thought is for the car tucked into the hedge, then he recalls what he saw the previous day, his cock going thick at the memory of Amber laid on the front lawn.

Jonathon doesn't think much about the morality of what he does next as he fondles his dick and tries to put it out of his mind that he's fantasising over his own flesh and blood. He sees Amber as she was, her body so sweet in the minutes he'd stared at her nudity from his position by the front gate.

He puts it from his mind while tugging his length, refusing to admit just who it is firing his libido, the cum spitting out of his dick as he gasps and moans and feels the blessed relief his masturbatory pleasure has brought.

Jonathon wipes off the spunk which clings to his belly and chest, tossing his tee-shirt aside before settling down for at least three more hours of sleep, his head full of his daughter, dark urges churning inside him while he attempts to deny his moral transgression.

His rest is disturbed, his mind in torment, with Jonathon giving it up at a point just beyond six in the morning.

He leaves his room and makes the descent down the ancient stairs, the uneven walls under his palm as he goes down, the thick blocks of the walls oddly familiar regardless of the years which have passed since he called the place home.

Jonathon showers in the familiar bathroom, thinking about the renovations he's planned. He thinks it's definitely time to get the place brought up-to-date. The plumbing is old, the wiring ancient, and the new kitchen will be most welcome, especially since he plans to use the place as a holiday let.

He's munching toast in the kitchen, pondering the ongoing problem of where to install a bathroom upstairs when Amber appears.

The girl looks sleepy and tousled, long hair in disarray as she greets her father with a yawn.

"Hello, dad," his daughter says with a hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she adds.

"Sleep well did you?"

"Must have been all that fresh air yesterday. I was knocked out as soon as I went to bed. But," she goes on with a shrug, "I always sleep really well here."

Jonathon nods, looking up from his breakfast, doing his best not to eye the girl's thighs where the hem of her long tee-shirt barely covers her vulva.

Amber yawns again and stretches her arms, giving her father a quick flash of her fluff.

"Breakfast?" croaks Jonathon, pushing away from the table.

Amber plonks her rump onto a ladder-backed chair, reaching over to take hold of the tea-pot.

She looks at her father. "Toast would be lovely."

Jonathon nods. "All right, give me a minute."

He takes two slices of bread from the earthenware jar before slipping them into the toaster.

From behind him, Amber asks, "Are you going to fetch the car this morning?"

"I'd better get something done," Jonathon replies. "Those lorries are busy today. I'd best get it moved before there's some kind of accident. Bloody car," he adds with a mutter.

"At least you were almost here. It could have been worse."

Jonathon nods in agreement while watching the toaster. "I suppose. I could've been on the bloody M1. Bloody stranded then, I expect."

"Do you fancy a picnic up on the hill? If you get the car shifted, we could go up there for lunch."

He feels it's safe to turn and look at Amber now she's sat down, her legs out of sight under the table.

"Well, it's a glorious day – why not? The builder's not due 'til tomorrow. The only thing I have to do today is get the car sorted."

They discuss the upcoming improvements to the cottage before moving on to logistics of the picnic.

"I'll make us a pack-up," says Amber, draining off the last of her tea. "If you can sort the car in time ... Shall we say half-twelve for a walk up the hill?"

Jonathon pauses while considering the chances of being ready in time. "All right. Well," he says, getting out of his chair, "can I leave this for you to tidy up?" He gestures at the plates and cups and tea pot.

Amber surveys the table. "Of course."

"Then I'll see about getting the car shifted."

*

He looks at her shorts with some consternation before moving his focus up to her face.

"Uhm, I say, sweetheart, those are a bit on the brief side," Jonathon tells Amber.

"There's nobody to see," Amber replies, rolling her eyes. "And I've got my bikini bottoms on underneath. I'm quite decent, dad."

He has to admit she's all covered up, but the shorts and tight tank-top are still very revealing, the fabric seemingly moulded to her body.

"But your bottom's ... well, I can see your bum poking out."

"Don't be such an old fuddy-duddy, father. I want to get my legs brown. Anyway, it's only you who's going to see these shorts."

"And any driver going past," puts in Jonathon.

"Then let's get across the lane and up the hill while the coast's clear."

Before Jonathon can say any more, Amber has the small rucksack on her back and is away across the lane to the triple-strand fence. She's over the wire and moving up the modest incline, her father watching her derriere twitch.

Jonathon sucks in a deep breath and shoulders his own pack, then follows the line Amber has taken across the road.

Fifteen minutes later, they're just shy of the hill's apex, sheltered from view from above by an outcrop of rock.

Amber stands with her hands on her hips to take in the view, the cottage a child's toy, fields and hedgerows beyond, the limestone scar of the quarry an ever-expanding bowl to her right.

"It's always so gorgeous up here," the girl breathes, her eyes following the Matchbox lorry moving along the lane. "It must have been lovely for you when you were growing up."

Jonathon lowers his burden and pulls a face. "Winters were bleak sometimes," she says. "And it was a trek to school."

Amber puts her own pack down next to her father's. "Six miles to school after mucking out the pigs," she says with a grin. "Kids of today," she adds in a piss-taking tone, "don't know they're born..."

"That's enough of that," Jonathon says with a chuckle. "Anyway, we only had one pig."

"Why, what will you do?" Amber replies. "Spank my bottom?"

There's a visceral hitch inside Jonathon when her words conjure up and immediate and unexpected image of Amber over his knee, her rump exposed to the palm of his hand, the oyster of her sex right there in the concavity at the tops of her inner-thighs.

He tries to make light of it by saying, "You're not too old, young lady," continuing with, "So, let's get unpacked."

He masks his chagrin by kneeling to unbuckle the straps on his rucksack, pulling the blanket out first, the same plaid one on which he'd seen his daughter displayed the previous day. Jonathon gulps at the reminder, his discomfit blooming to a hot rush in his cheeks when he looks up to see Amber peeling the tank-top over her head.

"What are you doing?" Jonathon asks.

Amber pauses just as her fingers loosen the buttons at the waist of her shorts. "Stripping off. I told you, I've got my bikini on underneath. Don't worry, it isn't like yesterday, dad."

His face burns hotter while his daughter continues to stare. "I ... I'm sorry about that."

Amber shrugs. "Don't be. I'm not embarrassed. It's only nature, dad. I love being outdoors in the nude."

It's a conversation he doesn't want to have – not with his daughter. "You shouldn't say things like that to me," Jonathon gurgles, getting busy inside the backpack.

Amber counters with, "Why not?"

From the corner of his eye, Jonathon can see she's shrugging the shorts past her hips.

"Because it's inappropriate, that's why."

"God," his daughter sighs, "it's the 1970s, dad. Were you so pompous in the 60s?"

"I was working in the 60s. I had a wife and a daughter to provide for. It wasn't all free-love and rock music, you know. Not for everybody."

Then she's down beside him, kneeling next to her father, a hand on his shoulder. "I ... I didn't mean to upset you," she breathes.

The sudden rush of ire evaporates completely. Jonathon lets out a sigh, turning his head to regard his daughter's earnest expression.

He gulps when he sees her blue-eyes set in a serious cast, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail away from her face.

"God, you're lovely," Jonathon murmurs, the words spilling out before he can stop them.

It's a momentary thing, but he feels a sudden desire to lean in and kiss Amber's mouth. He can see the curve of her breasts, the inner flanks so tempting, his cock abruptly stiff in his jeans.

He sees the shock flicker behind Amber's eyes, a quick flash of consternation furrowing her brow.

"I'm sorry," Jonathon says in a rush. "It was just you reminded me of your mother."

It's a lie, but he can't think of anything else to say in the moments following his outburst, Amber's gaze still fixed on his face.

"Let's not talk about

her

," Amber says, not moving away. "Don't spoil today."

Jonathon lets out another sigh, ashamed and confused by the desire he feels for his daughter. "All right, I'm sorry ... Look, let's just unpack and have our picnic. If you want to sunbathe, at least be careful not to get burnt."

There's silence between them, the father worrying about his inappropriate thoughts while the daughter struggles with painful memories of what she sees as her mother's desertion.

The pair set out the picnic, the blanket spread out over the tufts of grass, plastic containers and an old biscuit tin filled with sandwiches and cake. Amber goes to her father's rucksack and pulls out a thermos of tea and two bottles of beer, rummaging around for an opener to pop the caps off the bottles.

The mood shifts between them again, turning benign as they munch on the food and take pulls at the beer, conversation slow between them as they talk about the quarry and Jonathon's plans to turn the cottage over to strangers who want to use it as a base to explore the Peak District.

"That was marvellous, sweetheart," Jonathon says to his daughter. "Thank you for that."

Amber chuckles and tells him he's welcome, her father settling down onto his back, eyes closing as unaccustomed ale in the middle of the day has a soporific effect.

Jonathon dozes, his mind hovering just above a layer of sleep, odd dreams coming in.

He isn't too sure how long he's laid there, but when he opens his eyes he feels another visceral tug, his focus going to his daughter, with Amber naked again.

"Amber?" he croaks. "What are you doing?"

She's standing upright, hands on her hips, her back to her father as she surveys the parochial scene spread out for miles.

When Amber swivels at the waist, Jonathon sees her breasts in three-quarter profile, the feminine sweep of her waist and hips tugging at Jonathon's core.

"I just love being bare," she says to her father. "It feels lovely up here. Why don't you try it?" the girl asks. "You must be melting in those heavy old jeans."

Jonathon looks at his daughter, swallowing hard when he sees the taut flesh of her buttocks, his cock already erect while he takes in the incongruity of her blue plimsolls she's still got on her feet.

"Amber, oh God, sweetheart, no. I can't, and you shouldn't...

"Bloody hell, girl, won't you cover yourself up!"

But to Jonathon's surprise, she just shrugs and laughs. "I don't want to," pouts Amber. "I like being this way.

"Come on," she says, turning round fully, the blonde fur at her sex drawing Jonathon's eyes. "It's just us two up here. Nobody will see us."

"But I'm your father," Jonathon splutters, appalled at her casual flaunting.

"What does that matter?" puts in the girl. "I'm not bothered by that."

"You should be," he says, sitting upright, unable to take his attention off the girl's body.

"Why?" she asks, tone defiant. "It's natural for us to be naked. Why don't you just take your clothes off? It's lovely."

Then she sees her father glance at the front of his jeans.

"Oh!" blurts Amber, the realisation dawning.

1976

Jonathon steers the Hillman's successor through the big gate, moving past the front garden to where he follows the curve to the far gable-end of the cottage. He turns off the engine and sits there for a few seconds, gathering his composure before confronting his daughter.

He leaves the Capri unlocked after collecting his case from the space in the back of the car, then goes into the cottage.

"You're here," says Amber in greeting, moving in close to peck a kiss at her father's cheek.

"How are you, sweetheart?" Jonathon asks in reply, doing his best to ignore the girl's nudity.

"Better now you're here with me," she says on a sigh.