Humbled Before Him: An Erotic Dom/sub Father/daughter Incest Story - Story Excerpt

 

Humbled Before Him is an erotic father/daughter incest story with a focus on character, an established relationship, and some romance. Viewer discretion advised.

THIS IS A SAMPLE OF THE FULL BOOK.

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It started as an accidental brush of her fingers against his hand at the supermarket.

Idris bent at the waist, leaning on a shopping cart that was comically small compared to him while Ila frowned at the selection of cured meat in the refrigerated aisle.

"This place also doesn't have it." She huffed, grabbed a couple packages of the closest thing and dumped them into the cart.

Idris looked at the plastic packages, glanced up at Ila over the rim of his black-framed glasses, then went right back to peck-typing with his long, knobby-knuckled pinky. "Mmhh I told you bintii, should have gone to the specialty store."

She rubbed a hand over her face, skewing her glasses as she did, then gestured to the cart. "I'd just like to go home. I'll work with what I have."

He pushed himself up from the cart with a low sigh, the vertebrae in his lower back popping with the effort. His return to full height left some folks in the store around him gawking; Ila took more notice of it than Idris did today, and it was yet another aggravation for her on top of a multitude of others.

She brushed past him and went to grab the handle in the same instant that he pulled away from it. There was a single moment of contact,where her fingertips brushed the top of his gnarled, veined hand. An instant that brought them both pause that lasted maybe two seconds, but to them felt like two lifetimes.

They'd been out all day looking for an elusive cured meat Ila wanted to try, and when they were in public they decided a long time ago that physical affection—any touch at all—was forfeit. The lines between romance and family had blurred so much for them over the years that it was impossible for either of them to tell where proper intimacy between father and daughter ended, and the sensuality of lovers began. So, they abstained.

They'd gone from idle caresses that morning in bed—quick kisses, playful swats and pinches to… nothing. As soon as they stepped out of the house, they kept their distance from one another and hardly dared make eye contact for fear of lingering too long, too passionately. Even if no one else noticed, the remotest possibility of someone finding out about their relationship was as good as a death sentence.

And Ila had just touched his hand, and the both of them had stopped to linger, to marvel at what they'd denied each other and themselves for hours.

In the very next instant, they snatched their hands back as if burned. They glanced at each other, lilac finding steady black, then away. They walked toward the checkout as if that tumultuous touch had never taken place, a little farther apart than they'd been before.

~~~

Idris was the one that broke that cardinal rule with deliberate intent on the drive home. Traffic brought them to a stuttering start-and-stop along the highway, and he looked up at an exit sign ahead of them.

"Do you need this specific thing tonight?" he asked.

Ila blew out a breath, then let her head loll back against the headrest. "No, not for tonight exactly."

He gestured to the sign with a raised brow. "We can go there, there is another grocery that might have—"

"It's fine, I just... I wanted to try and make you something different, that's all," Ila blurted, then added as she kneaded between her eyes with her knuckles, "what we have is close enough. It's fine, dad."

He looked over at her and the furrows along his muzzle deepened with a smile. "Tired of the pot roast already?"

She glowered. He was teasing, because they'd just made it the night before. "I wanted to make something we've never tried before, for date night—"

Her voice died on her tongue, and her teeth clicked shut. She didn't have to be so tight lipped in the car, but there had to be separation. She knew that and he knew that.

Idris sucked on his teeth, then hummed in acknowledgment as the traffic finally thinned to a point they could get to their exit without waiting another twenty minutes at a standstill. The rest of the drive through residential streets was quiet, laced with more than a little tension. At the last red light, he leaned back and touched her. It was a soft press of his massive palm on her knee. He squeezed, just a little.

Ila sighed through her nose at the sensation of the heat of his hand through her jeans. He squeezed again and said something under his breath she didn't bother to catch, and wondered if he could hear her heartbeat just as clearly as she could hear it, thundering in her own head.

~~~

When they got home, Idris carried the majority of the groceries inside, ducking through the front door as Ila unlocked and opened it. Normally, they need only make one trip, and this time was no different.

Ila shut and locked the door behind her, and felt an all-over tension ease out of her stiff muscles and joints as she leaned against the solid wood. They went outside often enough that she thought she should be used to the tension by now, but the anxiety never eased. Putting on blinders and a blank face never felt any more natural than it had the first time they stepped outside after confessing and pursuing more than just a familial relationship.

"My life, come here," Idris called in absent-minded Arabic. Ila rubbed at her eyes behind her glasses and made her way to him in the kitchen.

He was inspecting the bags, plucking things out and setting them on the counter. She stopped in the threshold of the space to stare at him; she hadn't gotten a proper chance to look at him before they left the house. His coiled, silver hair was frizzier today, but still draped down his broad back in a shimmery, well-maintained cascade of a mane. When he swiveled his head to look down at the bags farther to his left, her eyes traced the broken hook of his nose and the shape of his lined muzzle.

She made her way into the kitchen, her socks making no noise on the tile. In the span of a breath, she had her face buried in his mid-back against his loose-fitted tank top, her arms looped around and up his broad chest to rest on the bony divot between his pecs. She could feel the muscle striations flex and relax as he moved his arms to set things aside and bat empty bags away. She giggled when one fell off the counter and onto the floor from his theatrical swat, and he did it again just to make her laugh a little longer.

He sighed a few moments later, after everything was pulled from the plastic bags and set on the counter. Ila shivered at the feel of his huge, hot hand engulfing one of hers. He held her hand there, pressed off-center on his broad chest, and she felt the vague beat of his heart under her palm.

"I do not know when you want to start dinner," he rumbled. His long fingers trailed over the top of her hand, and she balled up a handful of his shirt in a loose fist.

Ila didn't answer him right away, focused on matching her breathing with his. It was their ritual to break tension, their respite from that ache for what others took for granted, but it wasn't the same every time. Sometimes it was just this; sometimes it was a movie on the couch; sometimes it was a shower or a nap together, luxuriating in physical affection. So long as they had contact, eventually they'd slot back into themselves.

"I don't need to for a bit," she mumbled against him.

He shifted his weight, and the soft thump of his boot caught her attention. Every minute motion of him caught her attention, and she lifted her head to stare down the length of his leather motorcycle jeans to the heavy, buckled boot that thumped on the tile.

"You didn't take those off?" She kneaded her hands a little lower down his front.

He snorted and leaned his head back, scratching his jaw. "I would have to sit to take them off. I was carrying groceries inside."

Ila breathed in the scent of him beneath the cedar of his soap and vanilla of the leave-in conditioner in his hair, hair that tickled her face when he moved. She pressed her face against his back again and squeezed his broad ribs as much as she was able.

"Go sit then," she said after a moment of quiet. She left a kiss against a muscle in his back, which rolled as he let his arm drop.

He grunted and did as she requested, leaving the kitchen to sit on the couch in the living room.

Ila put away the groceries in his absence, and when she looped back around, she found him leaning back on the green-patterned couch on his phone. His legs were spread, relaxed so they weren't at an awkward angle with his knees raised, and his big, clunky boots were still on his feet. The light spilled halfway on him from the window, bounced off of his dark skin to illuminate the bottom planes of his gaunt, angular face.

He was so engrossed in whatever he was picking at, that he didn't notice when Ila walked over to him. She touched his tattooed shoulder, her fingers gliding over the bone arch of a realistically rendered elk's eye socket. He glanced up at her, and she caressed farther down to the large dark rose right below the skull. She caught his eye, then gestured to his scuffed-but-shiny punk boots with a lopsided smile.

"Did you forget, old man?" She lifted her pale hand to cup his cheek.

A sheepish grin made his crows feet wrinkle thrice-fold, and he laughed as he leaned his face against her palm. "Ah… I became distracted."

Ila hummed, cocked her head, and leaned against his tattooed shoulder. He watched her with a question in the quirk of a gray brow, and then needed not to wonder when she slid into his lap and straddled his hips. She felt his breath hitch as she tilted forward and nosed at the dense fur along his jaw...

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