Knock Me Up, Daddy

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tagIncest/TabooKnock Me Up, Daddy

It felt like the first time all over again.
He sat there and waited for her and all the while, it reminded Stan of the first time he'd waited for her. She'd been in such a rush to get going. She had come six weeks early and scared the shit out of him and Charlene. Her first two weeks of life were in the NICU at Children's Memorial, attached to wires and machinery. He'd been on pins and needles until he realized what a little fighter she was.
That was why, he supposed, that he'd always doted on her the way he did. Other dads called their daughters "princesses" but not Stan. Melissa was more like a featherweight boxer; always smaller than the other kids, always underestimated and always tough as nails. It had been as apparent in her preemie grip around his index finger as it had been the rest of her life. She was smaller and shorter but that had never kept her behind. Melissa had always insisted on doing everything first, harder and better than the kids who had a foot on her. She was so hard headed, Stan shook his head with a smile. That was why he waited so patiently in the church vestibule. He gave her space, he let her take her time. It didn't matter that two hundred give or take people were waiting for her to walk down the aisle. Let them wait, Melissa was always on her own time.
Stan heard the click of heels on the marble floor and sighed. Here came trouble, he could feel it in his bones. He knew that Charlene wouldn't be able to just relax and put on a smile. She'd been so uptight about this damn wedding ever since Melissa and Steve broke the news. Stan could hardly wait for it to be over with and hoped things would return to normal, whatever that was. "What's taking her so long?" his wife of 32 years asked in the same voice that she used to bark at customer service people and delivery people that she thought were too pokey. Lately, Stan felt that he'd become the help.
When had she stopped being nice? He couldn't help but wonder. Stan patted the wooden pew and gestured for her to sit down next to him. Char looked good today. She was flawless really and his body noticed. Her beige dress was tasteful, classic; of course it was Charlene so it wouldn't be anything else. The square neckline showed a hint of cleavage but after all this time, Stan had every inch of her memorized. Sure, it might have been going on two years since he'd seen her naked but his memory was very good in that regard. "Babe, it takes as long as it takes," he told her with a wink. Stan would like to kiss her right now but he knew that wouldn't be allowed. Not only would it spoil her makeup for the pictures but since Charlene had closed up shop down there, if she kissed him at all, it was an occasional peck on the cheek. "You want to relax? You've been on your feet all morning," he'd like to run his hands through her newly colored blonde hair and pull her body into his. It was a wedding for god's sake, they were supposed to be celebrating. They had a room upstairs at the Pfister and maybe, just maybe, if the night went without a hitch, the dam might break. Maybe if he plied her with just the right amount of Old Fashioneds, which was two and a half; if she finished the third, she was done for. Stan was hoping that the right amount of cocktails and strange bed with a fabulous view of the Milwaukee skyline, maybe Charlene would make an exception to the pussy is closed rule.
Charlene wouldn't hear of it though, "I'm going to check on her," she told him with a haughty look on her face and her shoulders pushed all the way back.
Dammit, he didn't want to do this. He especially didn't want to do this here, in St. Anthony's where the sound would reverberate so that anyone could hear every word. This was supposed to be Melissa's day and he wouldn't let Charlene ruin it. "No, you're not, Char," he told her in the same voice that he used to use with the poodle; not angry, just firm. Stanley Whiteside didn't lose his temper, especially not with his lovely wife but he wasn't going to let her fuck things up here. "I don't have it in me today, Char. Not another round with you and Melissa. You know how she is, let her do what she needs to do." He reached for Charlene's hand and noticed the ring, his ring, sparkling there on her third finger. This was the second ring, the upgraded version. They'd been so poor the first time he could barely afford the plain gold band and the tiniest stone. Their wedding was nothing like this shindig. Of course, Char had actually loved him back then too.
"Good cop, bad cop," Charlene said with a sigh and she pulled her hand from his touch. She recoiled all of his advances now. Night after night of new excuses and shrugging her shoulders away, Stanley had all but given up. "As always," Charlene gave him a look that was cold and hard. "I'm going back out there but people are starting to wonder," she stormed off and the heels clicked back down the marble. Stanley watched her walk away and exhaled. The bowtie seemed to squeeze the air out of him but maybe that was just his soul.
He'd be damned if he told Melissa to hurry up. Hell, this till death do you part was highly overrated. No one had any idea how bad things could get between now and death. There was a lot of gray areas in there, like the longest drought of no sex that Stanley Whiteside had ever had since he'd started having it.
"Dad," the door creaked open and Stan saw his daughter's long, dark hair peeking out. The tendrils hung down one bare shoulder and he could just see her eyes. "Dad, come here," she whispered and waved him to the door with one hand.
Stanley stepped inside the small changing room and closed the door with a squeak behind him. There were balled up Kleenex all over the floor. His daughter was in the white, strapless dress with the yards and yards of netting and pinafores and who knows what else was under that dress that cost him fifteen thousand dollars. Her veil was on, in a tangle behind her. Her face, Jesus Christ, Charlene would have a fit if she went out there with that face. Melissa hardly ever cried. Maybe the last time was when the poodle died, so this must be big. "Honey, what's wrong?" he asked quietly before she threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his starched, white shirt. "Oh, baby, what is it? What happened?" Stan held her close. She still only came up to mid chest, even with her heels on. Melissa was only about four-ten. The dress had to be altered several times to fit her. His girl, she was tiny and curvy but somehow "little" just didn't fit her. Stan had never told her that she reminded him of a shorter version of Betty Paige because it just didn't seem appropriate. He hugged her close and tried to rub her hair but all he felt was the veil. "You can tell me, honey," he assured her.
"I can't marry him," Melissa sniffed, her voice was muffled by his shirt.
"Really?" Stan asked and wondered if this was his secret wish finally coming true. It wasn't like Steve was a bad guy. Steve Hanson was fine but all he was ever going to be was fine and Melissa deserved more than that. Besides, Steve was still too much of a player for Stan's tastes. He had kept his daughter on her toes with a two year engagement while he traveled all over the world and rarely took his fiancé with him. That made him a douchebag, at least as far as Stan was concerned. "Did something happen?" he wouldn't punch him or anything but he wouldn't be nice to Steve either if he'd broken Melissa's heart.
His daughter sniffed and stood up straight . She pushed the veil away from her face. Her eyes were a wreck, mascara had dripped and dried on her cheeks and her lipstick was gone. Stan decided that he preferred her eyes like this though. They were brilliant; dark blue and wet with tears. They shimmered like a lake at midnight with the moon shining on it; a lake with hidden depths. That described his daughter perfectly. She didn't need all of that stuff on her face. "It's not like that. He didn't do anything," she laughed sarcastically, "besides just be Steve anyway. It's not like he hit me."
Stan nodded, that made sense. He'd always felt in his gut that if any guy hit Melissa, she'd come back with a knife.
"It's just that I found out that he lied. You know how he said that the bachelor party was golfing yesterday?" He did, Stan was still sore from the trip. The Highlands at the Grand Geneva was a challenging course and Stan had never been a good golfer. Of course, his job didn't require him to wheel and deal either, which was one more reason that he didn't know how he felt about Steve. Wasn't pharmaceutical sales just legal drug dealing? Hobnobbing with doctors hardly sounded like work. "Well, that was just the bachelor party that you guys knew about," Melissa narrowed her eyes and her round, pink mouth became a flat line. "He spent two nights in Vegas last week and it was just all strip clubs with his degenerate friends."
As her father, Stan was pissed but as a man, he could see why Steve wouldn't tell. "That's not right," was all he could come up with.
"And it's not just that. He's always got excuses about stuff but I just feel like he's always lying to me," Melissa said as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her cleavage pushed out a little bit more. She was going to need to check that before she walked out there and make sure that she was ready for pictures. That was, unless Melissa was just going to blow it all up and leave douchebag and the other two hundred people in the dust. Stan would take her home to change and then they'd go to Kopp's for ice cream.
"Well, do you want to go, honey? I have no problem with you calling this thing off," Stan gave half a smile as he touched her chin. "If you don't want to get married, you don't have to."
"But wouldn't you be upset with me? I mean, you've spent a lot of money," her forehead was creased with worry. She had whispered a lot but she didn't even know how much.
"Sweetheart, you don't ever have to worry about doing anything to make me happy," Stan drew her a little closer and spoke in the same voice he used when he tucked her in after nightmares so many years ago. "I'm happy when you're happy."
She rested her head on his bicep, her head still didn't reach his shoulder. That cute, little turned up nose, the rosebud mouth, and those eyes, Jesus Christ, how could Steve do anything to hurt her? Beautiful, with that thick, dark tangle of hair and her black lashes and her soft, milky skin; Steve was damn lucky that Melissa would even go out with him, let alone become his wife. Plus she was smart, she had a great job, they lived in her condo. Stan knew that she wasn't much of a cook but that's what take-out was for. "Mom would kill us," Melissa said as she looked up, her eyes sparkled at the thought. It was almost an incentive for Melissa to do it. "Absolutely kill us. She'd say it was your fault."
Yes, Charlene would say all of that and more. Like Melissa had always been his favorite and he'd never treated Andrew or Marty the same and it wasn't fair. Blah, blah, blah, she'd be pissed the full month of June and probably well into July but Stan thought this would probably be worth it. He only wanted his daughter's happiness. He didn't say all of that though, he just shrugged and asked, "What else is new?"
Melissa laughed at that. "I guess I'm just nervous. Everyone gets nervous about getting married, right, Daddy?" she sounded so wistful and sincere and suddenly smaller and younger than she really was. It was almost as if she was asking if there really were a monster in the closet.
"Everyone does, honey," he affirmed.
"I better fix my face," Melissa looked to her right and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. "I can't look like shit for my pictures," she told her reflection.
"That's not possible, honey," Stan told her as he kissed her on the top of her head. He looked at the two of them in the mirror and he held her close for one more minute. "You're sure you want to do this?"
"Oh Daddy, you're so sweet to me," Melissa whispered as she looked up. "No man could ever be as good to me as you," her breath was minty sweet and warm on Stan's face and her lips were whisper soft on his. "I love you, Daddy," she murmured before they kissed again. This kiss was firmer, more deliberate, a pressing of her mouth on his. Then another, and another; their mouths were joined and neither of them pulled away. They lingered together, as if this would be the last time, as if they'd never kiss again but these were different from any kisses Stan had ever had with his daughter before. Somewhere, deep down, his brain screamed, "What are you doing?" but it was far away and easy to ignore. This was too sweet and too seductive to stop. Hot, slow, melting kisses and her mouth was just open a little bit but he didn't dare. His hands were around her waist and they seemed to want to run down to her hips and cup her cheeks as he pulled her into his body but he also didn't dare do that. As it was, the only thing Stan could do was keep kissing her and he never wanted it to end. His mouth was so hungry for this, every inch of him was starving to touch and to be touched.
After what was probably only seconds, but could have been forever, Melissa ended it with a sigh. She reached for a Kleenex, "okay, Daddy, I'll be out in a minute."
He was being kicked out and Stan nodded, grateful for the separation because now he was hard and needed to get rid of that before he walked his little girl down the aisle. Jesus Christ, he thought as he closed the squeaky door behind him, for his own daughter? It had felt so good though. He put his hand on his mouth and the place where her soft lips had touched his burned. It had only been a few seconds but he'd been lost for hours with her small body and her velvet mouth and his dick aching in the front of his pants. Charlene would never forgive him if she thought that he was sporting wood in front of all of their family and friends.
There, that was the end of that.
Lately thinking about Charlene usually killed the mood and deflated his dick as well as his ego. Stan finished adjusting his pleats and his jacket and slicking back his hair and Melissa emerged from the room. Whatever magic she had performed in there, she was suddenly every inch the radiant bride that he was certain that Charlene wanted to see. Her mouth, the mouth that had just stirred something primal and ravenous inside him, was no longer bare and pink. Now glistened with gloss and her eyes had gone from deep and dark to happy and dancing. The mascara was off her cheeks and the black traces had been replaced with a rosy glow. She'd fixed the top of her dress and her veil was perfectly in place. In one hand, she carried the bouquet of pink and white flowers and with the other hand. She waved to him. "Ready, Daddy?"
As ready as he'd ever be to give her to douchebag Steve; sure, he guessed so. Stan smiled and told her, "You look absolutely beautiful. Let's go, honey."
As they entered the sanctuary, the music changed and Stan could feel every eye in the place on them as "At Last" began to play. It was one of Stan's favorites and the only part of the ceremony that he had anything to say about. He patted her small fingers that were tucked in the crook of his arm. He looked ahead to the priest and Steve and his best man and for a moment, he regretted that they weren't in the car with the windows down and the wind in their hair. That kiss, well, really, those kisses, were going to linger in his mind like a dream he'd like to finish but never could get back to.
"Thank you, Daddy," Melissa mouthed as they reached the front and she took her hand away and placed it on Steve's forearm instead.
He'd been replaced, it was official and Stan felt it in his gut.
Stan turned to take his seat next to Charlene. Her face was flushed and he wondered if it was a hot flash or if she was just pissed that the two of them had kept her waiting. He patted his wife's knee and hoped Melissa knew what she was doing.
Stan met his son, Marty at the bar and took the second glass of scotch from his hand. "I hope that's for me," he didn't wait for Marty's reply. He took a slug and let it burn in the middle of his throat for a few seconds before he swallowed it down.
"Well, I guess it is now," Marty laughed and patted him on the back. "Really, since it's open bar and you're paying for this huge fucking wedding, I guess all the drinks are yours, Dad." Marty chuckled at his own drink and before he emptied his glass. His son pointed to the bartender and nodded, "two more when you have a minute, thanks bud."
Stan set the tumbler down on the bar and shook his head. "Nope, gotta pace myself. It's a long night. I have to dance with your sister still and I can't be drunk for that. Your mother will kill me."
Marty thought about it for a second and nodded in agreement. "Yeah she would."
Charlene's sister, Angela strutted up to the bar and interrupted them, just like she always did. Angela was the baby of the family, only forty but on her fifth marriage, or was she just separated from the fourth husband? It was hard to keep up with. She'd always flirted more than was acceptable, with Stan as well as his sons. It made everyone a little uncomfortable and it made Charlene furious. Stan was sure that was partly why his sister-in-law did it. He was also fairly sure that if he'd ever really taken her up on any of her suggestions, she'd be completely agreeable. "Well, well, don't you ever wear anything else besides a tux, okay Stanny?" she said it in a bedroom voice as she slid between him and Marty. She flashed him a long look at her cleavage in the low cut purple dress. "You sure do clean up nice," she leaned in close as if they were having an intimate moment.
Angela was on the list.
Stan had never cheated on Charlene. Not really, not all the way with his dick inside another woman cheating. He knew that the things on the list were enough to be considered cheating by Charlene though and he kept them close to the breast. In fact, he only brought them out every once in a while when he really needed some masturbation material and porn wasn't sufficient. Angela was on the list. Angela in the hot tub; it had been more than twenty years ago which made her all of 19 at the time. Angela, blonde and tan and trim and flaunting every inch of her body in a pink bikini all while Charlene was pregnant with Andrew. Angela in the hot tub, touching his erection under the bubbles. It had only been through his bathing suit, not inside but he had let her. Stan had let her until he was on the brink of coming in his suit. His balls had been drawn up close. They'd been so fucking full and so ready to explode and then she had offered, "I can just move my bottoms over, you know."
How many times had he heard her ask that question over the years as he repeated the story with his hand around his dick?
It wasn't just because he would have lasted less than a minute. Fucking his sister-in-law would have been about thirty seconds of bliss and a lifetime of shit from Charlene. Immediately, his hard-on had deflated and Stan had just never spent that much time alone with her since. He'd thought about it though; probably fifty, maybe even a hundred times. He'd jerked off and cum all over himself as he thought about pulling his trunks down that night and ripping off the little blonde's bikini bottoms. In his mind's eye, he'd fucked her. He'd fucked her hard and she was tight and ripe and just nineteen, barely out of high school. She'd deserved it like that. She'd been teasing him unmercifully, completely on purpose ever since they met.
Of course in real life, he'd kept his distance. Stan knew better and lived by the philosophy, "happy wife, happy life."
"Thanks Angela, enjoy my liquor," Stan muttered as he walked away and hoped that Charlene hadn't even seen her approach. He really didn't need anything to stir her up between now and when the evening's festivities were over. Stan was counting on the room and the view and the fact that the wedding was in the rearview to make Charlene remember that he was still a man.

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