Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: JojoMojo
Title: Sleepless in Seattle
Part: 1
Universe: Vignette
Summary: What's a Dad to do when his daughter can't get to sleep without
a back rub?
Keywords: Mf Mg, MF, ped, mas, cons
   Sleepless in Seattle -
   a fantasy vignette by JojoMojo
   (Mf Mg, MF, ped, mas, cons)
   The following is completely and without a doubt a fictional account, 100
percent fantasy.  That said, as I write, I reflect on the things that I
experienced as a child, what felt good and what did not.  Those experiences
had a profound effect, and for the most part, I look back on them fondly.
   Caring, fun, ecstasy is what I'm interested in, for all involved, or
it's not worth doing or writing about.
   She appeared in the doorway to their bedroom, framed by the light
spilling into the dark hall behind her.  When neither looked up from their
reading, she cleared her throat and as if she did not want to interrupt,
said softly, "Daddy, I can't go to sleep.  Will you rub my back?" Her voice
had that beguiling tone that a daughter learns early on to use on the
father who is securely wrapped around her little finger.
   He looked up from the magazine he had been reading and responded with a
smile, "Ok sweetheart, go back to bed and I'll be down in a minute."
Dropping the magazine on the bedside table with a sigh, he swung his legs
out from under the warmth of the covers.  As he stood, he grabbed his
sweats and a t-shirt from the chair and pulled them on.
   His wife sighed, "You know you're spoiling her, don't you?" she said
good naturedly, her book in her lap.  Her eyes told him she wasn't
complaining, just stating a fact.  "It seems I created a monster all those
years ago when it was just the two of us and she was scared of monsters
under the bed," she commented wistfully.
   She brought the book up, and searched to find her place, dismissing him
to his duties, "I'll try to stay up for you, but don't let her keep you too
long," she said, eyes already buried in the book as he made his way out of
the room.
   And so, the dance began again.
   As he mounted the stairs, he knew that he was embarking on a carefully
choreographed dance.  Each step, firmly set in place but unspoken.  The
dance had grown over the years since Annette and her mother had moved in.
Back then, six years ago, it had seemed a great way to bond with his new
daughter.
   His wife, exhausted after seven years as a single mother with no family
or friends to lend a hand as she struggled to work and raise a child, had
gladly handed the responsibility for nightly back-rubs over to her new
husband.  Early on, as a bit of a bribe, she coyly hinted that if he made
sure Annette was soundly asleep, there was less chance of them being
"interrupted" later in the evening.
   The promised intimacy rarely came to pass.  Most nights he returned to
find his wife had fallen soundly asleep, the book she had been reading open
in her lap where it had dropped as she drifted off.  He learned early in
their marriage that she was not at all interested in any kind of intimacy
if he chanced to wake her.
   So, several times a week, Annette would appear at their door and he
would follow her upstairs.  He really didn't mind it back then.  Having
been an avowed bachelor prior to meeting his wife, the invitation into the
special world inhabited by little girls was something new and wonderful. 
The back rubs seemed to create a bond that smoothed over the difficulties
that some of his friends who had "married into a family" were experiencing.
In all, his life with the new family was pretty blissful.
   He was even more thankful now that at 13 she still wanted him to be a
part of her life, even if it was only to help her fall asleep on occasion.
He knew from talking to friends that it wouldn't be long before she saw him
as one big embarrassment or an obstacle on the way to freedom.  It had
already happened to several of the fathers in their group.  The fall from
daddy hero was not a pretty one.
   He stepped into her room and found everything was just as expected.  The
bedside lamp was on, washing the room in a warm glow.  Annette lay on her
stomach, the comforter pushed to the foot of the bed, the sheet pulled up
and tucked under arms that lay tightly pressed to her sides.  Her dark
hair, grown long over the years was spread out over her shoulders and the
pillow.
   "Having trouble sleeping sweet heart?" he asked in the same soft tones
he had used all those years before.
   "Mmm hmm," was the reply, issued with eyes closed, face turned towards
the wall.
   The first step of the dance was in motion.
   He reached for her hair, silky to the touch, and gathered it with
practiced ease.  "Gotta get your hair out of the way," he said as he
reached for one of the pink elastics that lay scattered over her night
stand.  He wrapped the hair with expert hands, making a perfect ponytail
and laid it aside on the pillow, brushing her cheek tenderly as he reached
for the sheet.
   He grasped the top of the sheet and tugged.  She relaxed her arms
releasing the sheet and allowing him to pull it down.  He carefully folded
it at her waist.  "Bare skin or through your sleep shirt?" he asked,
repeating the question he had started asking all those years ago, even
though the answer was always the same.
   "Skin," she replied softly, her voice already sounding sleepy.
   He began to gather the shirt from under the covers.  She raised her hips
slightly to free the tail as he pulled it up around her neck to expose her
shoulders.  The shirt almost never came off, even though that would have
been easier.  "Girls can't take their shirts off when boys are around," he
had been informed matter-of-factly all those years ago when he suggested
it.
   "Let's get that shirt all the way up," he whispered as he slipped his
hands under her stomach, sliding the cotton cloth from beneath her torso.
She sighed contentedly when his hands brushed the soft, small breasts as he
brought the cloth to her neck; then brushed them a second time as he
brought his hands back to her waist, earning a soft "mmmm".  He knew better
than to linger, even with the encouraging sounds, as it would bring an
exasperated "Daddy..." So, he followed the unwritten steps of the dnace,
removed his hands and sat next to her on the bed.
   He started at her shoulders using just his fingertips, following the
bumps of her backbone to the sheet folded at her waist.  His touch was
gentle, he knew that she wasn't after a massage, just the reassurance that
each touch brought.  She moaned softly as he worked his hands over her
back. There were some nights when the backrub ended with this first
activity, so he listened carefully to her breathing as he rubbed.
   That first year, they had always ended here with her slowly drifting off
to sleep as he caressed her back.  Some nights he was so taken with her
innocent beauty as she slept, that he would stay long after she had fallen
asleep, drinking in every feature as he rubbed, his heart overflowing.
   Around the time she turned seven, they added to the dance, when she
asked him to rub her lower back.  At her direction he folded the sheet down
a bit, just to the top of her thighs, bringing panty clad buns into view.
In an effort to maintain decorum, he had started rubbing through the cotton
cloth, only to hear two words, "skin please." Unable to deny her request,
he had pulled her panties down just a bit, careful not to go past the top
of the cleft that marked the beginning of her buns.
   He didn't want to admit it at first, but the new step changed things a
bit for him.  After she drifted off to sleep he would leave her room
slightly aroused.  If he was lucky he would arrive downstairs to find his
wife was still awake and waiting for her own "special attention" from him.
   She was a beautiful woman, slender, with curves in all the right places,
smallish breasts, still firm even after nursing a child, and a firm ass
that invited kissing.  When she hadn't fallen asleep first, she was a very
willing, eager partner.  So the mild arousal only served to enhance things
between them.  Some of the best sex they shared was when he returned from
the back rubs.  Without knowing it, his wife had added a step to the dance.
   Annette, her voice soft, broke into his reverie, "Daddy, will you rub my
lower back?"
   He folded the sheet down and they moved seamlessly to the next step.
   Concentrating on the small of her back and the newly exposed skin of her
lower back, he gently pressed his fingers into the firm flesh, enjoying the
soft sounds she made as he worked.
   As he caressed, he enjoyed the view of her panty clad buns.  The cotton
covering he had grown to love had changed recently to something more
mature, yet still young and fresh.  Wild colors and patterns sometimes
appeared as he pulled the sheet down.  Often there was no need to pull the
elastic down to expose her lower back as they barely covered her buns.  To
his eye, her bottom had always been perfect, but with the onset of puberty,
the subtle curve of her hips had added to that perfection, creating a
beautiful, small bubble butt.
   It wasn't long before she half whispered, "Buns, please."
   He responded and they moved to the next step in their dance, one that he
had introduced.
   Half way through her seventh year, with heart hammering in his throat,
he took a chance and stepped off into thin air.  He whispered in her ear
one night, suggesting that he could rub her buns as well as her lower back,
noting that her buns were really just an extension of her back.
   She had contemplated his suggestion for a minute or two while he waited,
heart in his throat, wondering if he'd made a fatal mistake.  She finally
responded, "Well, I guess it's ok for you to see my butt, it's my front
that you shouldn't see 'cause that's where boys and girls are different."
With that she had lifted her hips and allowed him to slide her panties
down, almost immediately admonishing him, "Only to the top of my legs."
   As this new step was added to the dance, he knew he had crossed a line.
That night was etched into his memory: the firmness of her buns, how soft
the skin felt as he kneaded, rubbed and worked them, tracing his fingers up
and down the cleft that divided them; watching as goose bumps rose under
his touch.  The feeling that she had agreed to share something special,
something forbidden with him increased the arousal.
   Annette had somehow known without being told, that the step they had
added was not something that her mother would approve of.  A few nights
later, just after he had started rubbing her buns, they heard footsteps on
the stairs.  She had whispered urgently, "Mom!" and lifted her hips so he
could pull her panties back up and cover them with the sheet.  By the time
his wife appeared in the doorway, he was working diligently on Annette's
back, her head on the pillow, eyes closed.
   He was never sure if his wife had really come to tell him she was going
to sleep without him, as she had drifted off without notice so many times
in the past; or if she had grown suspicious and come upstairs to check on
them.  He chose not to pursue the subject, just making small talk as he
softly rubbed their daughter's back.
   He took some comfort remembering early conversations where she shared
that she loved the bond that had grown between them.  That inght he thought
he could detect those positive feelings in her eyes as she watched.  But
there was a part of him that was never sure if she had somehow guessed that
he was giving more than a back rub.
   Glad that this was not a night for footsteps on the stairs, he worked
Annette's buns, enjoying them as he watched for signs that she was ready
for the next step.  He knew that if they had gotten this far, it was only a
matter of time.  So, he concentrated on her lower back, then worked his way
onto her buns, rubbing, kneading, enjoying an occasional glimpse of the
darker flesh of her rosebud as he worked.
   Before too long, he felt his pulse quicken in anticipation as he watched
her legs, outlined by the sheet, relax and then spread a little bit.  She
lifted her hips slightly as the hands that had remained at her side slipped
underneath.
   He could feel more than see that her buns were starting to gently clench
and release, a response to fingers that had entered the dance.  He knew
from the few occasions when her panties had ended up a little farther down
her thighs than normal, that her fingers were tracing the outer lips of her
vulva, teasing, preparing her for the next step.
   To his surprise, she had added that step a little before her eighth
birthday.  Not long after, she added another step, too.  As he rubbed her
buns that night, expecting her to slowly fall into slumber, hands trapped
enticingly under her hips, she had quietly asked in an innocent voice,
"Daddy, can you rub my legs too?"
   Happy with the new development, he had slipped the sheet down past her
knees.  Before he could start rubbing, she had raised her hips making it
clear that the panties were to join the sheet.  He complied and got his
first look at her vulva, little fingers with half the nail polish worn off,
pressing and stroking the outer lips.  He ran his hands down her thighs and
up again afraid to touch what he was staring at.  On the third pass as he
slowed near the top of her thighs, she whispered, "Touch me on my ladybug.
OK?"
   While his wife had given him free reign with the back rubs, she had kept
dressing Annette, bath time and bathroom assistance for herself; noting
that "little girls need their privacy." He only knew the term "ladybug"
because he had overheard it when his wife was talking with a friend who had
a little girl the same age.
   He haden't needed to be asked twice and slid his hands down between her
thighs and into heaven.
   Again, his remembrance was cut short, when as if on cue, Annette
whispered, "Can you rub my legs too, Daddy?"
   He slipped off the bed and into the next step.
   He pulled the sheet to her ankles, then slipped the panties down too. 
As he pushed them to meet the sheet and slid his hands back up her legs,
she flexed her hips in anticipation, spreading her legs apart and pressing
her buns up.  Her position revealed the dark pucker that had winked at him
earlier, set enticingly above the lips that were puffy and slightly red
from fingers that had been pressing against them.
   The fingers, now with perfectly manicured nails, that had disappeared
moments earlier held the lips slightly open revealing dark pink inner lips
that glistened with the anticipation of his touch.  He moved one hand under
her hip and traced down her wrist and between her hands until his finger
slipped into the open cleft.  As he caressed the folds, tracing up to the
clit and back, she placed both of her hands on top of his, almost guiding
him.
   He marveled at the changes he had witnessed over the years: outer lips
that were once thin and bare were now fuller, a dusting of stray hairs a
testament to the womanhood that lay in the not so distant future; the small
vee of downy black hair above the cleft of those full lips (something
learned recently, one of the few times that she had rolled onto her back
during a variation of the dance); the inner lips that once were just thin
ribs below her clitoral hood were now fuller, like the petals of an exotic
flower framing the opening that glistened and beckoned.
   Not so long ago, he would have whetted his finger before starting to
rub, but that was no longer necessary.  His finger, rubbing between the
lips, was coated in warm slippery moisture.  On his knees by the bed he was
so close he could smell the musky scent of that moisture.
   He longed to add a step, to kiss her buns and work his way down with his
tongue to the folds that his finger now caressed.  But, he had tried
several times and was met with everything from an emphatic "Daddy..." to an
"Ewww" when he suggested it.  He had taken to joking occasionally and
kissing a bun, seemingly in jest, which always elicited a warning.  He
would chuckle and apologize saying something like, "You just look too
tasty." If he did it right, he'd earn a soft giggle and have another memory
to catalogue away.
   As he worked between her lips, her hands on top of his, he used his
other hand to trace down the cleft between her buns, across the pucker to
the opening of her vagina.  He held his finger at the opening, careful not
to push inside.  He'd tried that once a little after she turned 12 and was
told, "Not 'til I'm 16." He wasn't sure where she came up with the age but
knew it was not negotiable.
   So he held his finger between her lips and stroked the opening, enjoying
the feel when she flexed her hips and the tip entered.  It seemed it was ok
if her motions caused his finger to enter her, but not if he pushed;
another unwritten part of the dance.  So, he contented himself with what
she was willing to give.
   He ran his finger, coated with her moisture, back up to the pucker, and
pressing gently, circling the wrinkled opening.  He heard as she caught her
breath and watched as her fingers slipped between his to apply pressure on
her clit, twisting and pulling at the hood.  He chuckled to himself at her
reaction.  She had made it clear when she was younger that she didn't like
to have anything "in my bottom".  Yet, circling the pucker, applying gentle
pressure always elicited the same response.
   He could tell she was getting close, her fingers were now working
frantically between his, he could see the pucker flex as she tightened and
released against the motion of their fingers.  He traced down and brought
up more moisture shimmering on his fingertip, making the wrinkled flesh
glisten as he pressed gently and circled her dark rosebud.
   He had started to move his finger down again when she placed her own
finger at the opening, the lips surrounding the tip and manicured nail.  He
could feel the fingers of her other hand working along with his to hit just
the right spots.  He concentrated on the pucker and pressed gently, working
to help her get to the point of no return.  Her breathing was getting
ragged, interspersed with little squeaks.
   He watched as her finger slowly pressed deeper, sliding in until it was
as far as it could go.  She drew in a deep breath and grunted then
shuddered, flexing her hips down against their hands.  He cupped her vulva,
trapping her hand under his; and pressed against the pucker with his
finger, enjoying the feel of rhythmic pulses as the orgasm washed over her.
   He felt her relax as the spasms subsided, the orgasm slowly receeding.
He pulled his finger away, sliding his other hand out from under her as she
lowered her hips, placing her hands back at her side with a deep sigh. 
"Thanks Daddy, I love you," she whispered, lips barely moving.
   He stood and pulled her panties up, the shirt down, then covered her
with the sheet and comforter.  He bent to kiss her cheek as he tucked the
comforter around her shoulders.  "I love you too, honey.  Sleep tight," he
whispered against her cheek.
   He paused to look at her, so peaceful, obviously well on her way to
slumber, before he turned out the light and made his way into the hall.  He
stopped at the top of the stairs and adjusted himself, slipping his
hardness up and under the elastic of his sweats before dropping the t-shirt
over to hide the lump.
   Annette was off to sleep, but there was one last step to the dance; one
that puzzled him if he gave it too much thought.  Since to dwell on why or
how was disconcerting, he chose to accept it and just not question.
   He entered his bedroom and his wife smiled at him as she closed her book
and put it on the bedside table.  He turned his back to her as he pulled
off the sweats and t-shirt, dropping them on the chair before slipping
between the sheets, careful to keep his back to her until he was completely
covered.  She moved beside him as he rolled onto his back and he could feel
her skin against him as she wrapped her leg around his, pressing her sex
against his hip.  Her hand sought his and their fingers intertwined as her
mouth covered his lips in a long, lingering kiss.
   She slowly brought their hands out from under the covers towards her
lips.  The last and strangest step in the dance was beginning.
   The first time it happened, Annette was around nine.  He had returned to
bed in much the same manner as this night, except the lights were out and
he assumed his wife asleep.  He was surprised to find her awake and waiting
for him.
   She had taken his hand in hers and in the course of foreplay brought it
to her face, drawing a deep breath as his fingers touched her cheek.  His
heart stopped and he was sure he had been unwittingly participating in his
own demise.  The fingers that were on her cheek had only recently been
between Rebecca's lips.  He knew that the scent of her arousal was strong
as he had contented himself with the pungent perfume on his fingers many
nights as his wife slept beside him.
   There was no doubting that his wife could detect the musky scent; her
sense of smell was much more acute than his.  So, he was doubly surprised
and puzzled when she drew another deep breath, then without a word, slowly
took two fingers into her mouth, swirling her tongue around them before
releasing his hand and repeating the same thing with his other hand.
   The sex that first night was beyond compare.  She seemed to be on fire
and guided him through a series of positions that they had never tried
before; culminating in mind shattering mutual orgasms.  With that, the last
step in the dance was added.
   The sound of her taking a deep breath brought him back to the present.
He could feel himself harden fully as she slipped her free hand down and
started masturbating, grinding herself against the hand that was now
trapped between their bodies.  He smiled to himself as she pulled his
fingers into her mouth, "Could a man be any luckier?" he wondered as he
gave himself up to the last step in the dance.
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Sleepless_In_Seattle