The Moment

***Author's note: Firstly, all the characters in this story (at least any of them who are involved in any actual fucking) are over the age of eighteen. Secondly, I'd like to express my warmest of thanks to Carnal_Flower, the doyenne of Daddy/Daughter incest stories, for all of her encouragement and support. Without her advice, support and occasional nagging, this story would almost certainly never have been written. So, if you don't like it, it's her fault. Thank you, you filthy depraved creature.***

1

A life can change in a moment. A single moment. Little more than a heartbeat.

One second, you are travelling in a certain direction, your destination is clear and straight ahead of you; you are confident, steady, assured. The next, you are travelling in a completely different direction. Somewhere new, somewhere totally unexpected.

It can be hard to tell when those moments happen. You almost certainly don't realise it at the time. Only afterwards, with hindsight, can you take a step back and look. Draw breath and say to yourself: That was it. That was the moment when everything changed.

You see, I've had one of those moments. A moment when everything did change. And yes, I didn't realise it at the time. But I see it now. It's so clear, so vivid, so certain.

And my life is different now. Totally different. In ways I could never have imagined. I'm not the man I thought was. I liked to believe - I wanted to believe - I was a good man, a decent man. Steady. Reliable. But it turns out I'm a bad man, a weak man. A man who is capable of doing things I never thought possible.

Wicked things.

Evil things.

I have betrayed the people I love. I betray them still, on an almost daily basis. I have violated the most sacred of trusts. I have done the most despicable and depraved things. I have performed the most sordid of acts...

...and I have loved every fucking second of it.

So yes, my life is different now - as different as it is possible to be - and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I have a secret. A dark, terrible secret that is ticking away like an unexploded bomb. I can hear it all the time.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...

...and I know, one day, probably a lot sooner than I expect, certainly a lot sooner than I would like, that bomb will explode. That secret will be revealed. It's too big, too dreadful, too awful, for it not to.

And when that bomb explodes, when that secret is revealed, my life, as I know it, will be destroyed. It'll be over. It's as simple and as stark as that. My life will be destroyed. And not just my life. My family. My friends. Everyone I know. Like the shockwave from an atomic blast, it will wipe them all out, devastate and destroy, until they are all just shadows burnt onto a wall.

But I don't care. I don't give a shit. Let them burn. Let them all vanish in that blinding light. I can't stop myself, I can't give this new life up. I can't give her up. Not now. Not ever.

A life can change in a moment. A single moment. Little more than a heartbeat.

And that moment for me was when Bill Haslam told me about how he'd caught his son jerking off.

2

Bill worked in my department, in a small office block, downtown. He was a nice enough guy, although I wouldn't say we were friends exactly. He was the sort of person you could chat to amiably enough, usually about last night's ball game or the latest episode of whatever was the hot new thing on HBO or Netflix. But there was no real connection between us, beyond the superficial.

I suppose in some ways, we were kind of similar. At least, that's probably what I would've thought at the time. As it turns out, Bill and I are very different people. Very different indeed.

But back then, in my old life, before everything changed, I thought we were a lot alike. Middle-aged, married; both of us had teenage kids. Sure, he certainly didn't keep himself in shape the way I did. He was a lot more dishevelled than me; you could see the food stains on his tie, the little patches of tissue paper, where he had nicked himself shaving. He was a kind of fatter, sweatier, more crumpled version of me. The me I might become if I just let myself go a little.

Or at least that's what I thought back then.

So, it's late-morning on an entirely normal and unremarkable weekday; and I'm ploughing through some files. I work for a small clothing company that specialises in ladies' underwear. You won't have heard of us, we don't retail our own brands. We make generic clothing for cut-price department stores and low-end chain supermarkets. Nothing very sexy or exotic, we're not Victoria's Secret or Agent Provocateur. We're just a small company that makes dull, everyday bras and panties for dull, everyday women.

I worked in purchasing, buying lace and cotton and elastic and plastic clips. Not a terribly interesting job, to put it mildly, but it paid the bills and kept my family clothed and fed.

I'd reached a particularly tedious passage in a particularly tedious memo, concerning a company in Indonesia we were considering as a new source for cheaper nylon, when the phone on my desk started ringing. It was an internal line. I picked it up.

'Hello?' I said.

'Mr Fallows? Mr Haslam is waiting outside. He'd like a quick word with you.' It was Sarah, my secretary...sorry, I mean personal assistant.

'Sarah, how long have we've been working together?' I asked her.

'I don't know, about three years.' She replied.

'Three years. And in those three years, how many times have I told you to call me 'Mark'?'

'Oooh, a lot.' She giggled.

'Yes, a lot. And yet, despite my constantly imploring you to do otherwise, you persist in calling me Mr Fallows.'

'Yeah, but it's a lot more fun not doing what you tell me to...Mr Fallows.' She half-whispered, with a familiar sultry tone.

So, at this point, I should probably tell you about Sarah. She's going to crop up again in this sordid tale of mine. She's not one of the main protagonists, but she's going to make a couple of fairly crucial cameo appearances as this story plays itself out. She was a flirt, she had been from the moment she started working for me. She had never made any secret of the fact that she liked me, and, although I couldn't have said for certain, I was pretty sure she would be perfectly happy to make herself available for me in a sexual way. She was cute, with curly red hair and green eyes. She was barely five foot tall in her stockinged feet, and she was all curves. If you were being kind of cruel, you might say, in her ongoing attempt to traverse the perilous tightrope between 'voluptuous' and 'chubby', she probably fell a little more in the latter camp than the former. But she had an undeniable sexual charisma and was so charming and delightful and vivacious, you would have had to be a fool not to want to fuck her.

Not that I had. Not then. I was a married man. A father of three children. A loyal husband. Or at least I thought I was. The idea of indulging in some tawdry affair with my secretary - sorry, personal assistant - seemed so ridiculous, so outlandish, such a cliche, there was no way I would even contemplate the idea. That's what I told myself.

How naive I was. How ignorant.

I had no idea what was coming. I had no idea how everything in my life was about to be turned completely upside down. The brutal, unflinching truth of the matter is it would be only three days later that Sarah and I would have sex for the first time...

...of many times...

...in my office...

...on my desk.

Just how fucking cliched is that? Don't worry, we'll get to it.

But for now, there I was, on the phone to my flirtatious personal assistant, who was sat just a few feet away, in her little cubicle, wearing a tight, silky dress that was almost certainly too small for her, and was struggling to contain her monster titties and her luscious, fat ass.

'And what does Mr Haslam want to talk about?' I asked her.

'He didn't say, but he did say it wouldn't take very long.'

'Ok, show him in.'

A moment or two later Sarah appeared at my door, Bill standing just behind her. I could see his eyes drifting downwards, no doubt checking out that aforementioned luscious, fat ass. At that exact moment, being the prissy little asshole I was, I imagined I wouldn't have approved. Internally, I would be rolling my eyes, disappointed in his vulgarity, his boorishness, and above all else, his utter predictability. But, having subsequently tapped that luscious, fat ass on more than a few occasions by now, I'd have to be a complete hypocrite to say I didn't understood its appeal.

She ushered him in and then she turned to me.

'Coffee?'

'No thank you, Sarah.' I replied.

'Bill...uh...Mr Haslam?' She blushed. I smiled, just for an instant.

'No, thank you, Sarah.'

With that, she left and I turned to the man sat opposite. The man who was about to change my life.

'What can I do for you, Bill?' I asked.

'Well...fuck, it's kind of difficult. I uh...I don't really know where to start.'

'The beginning is usually the best place, I find.'

'Sure...but this is sort of...well it's all kinds of embarrassing.'

'Is this something to do with work?'

'No. No, it's not. It's just...well it's just kind of awkward.'

'Well, I've certainly got all day to just watch you stammer and hem and haw.' I said, in a somewhat sarcastic tone.

'Sorry, you're right. I should just tell you.'

A pause. Then...

'You know my eldest boy, Scott?'

'Sure. Great kid. I met him at the summer barbecue?' Every year the company organised a summer get-together at a local park. All the employees, and their families, were invited. Everyone would play softball, eat burgers and hot dogs, hang out, that sort of thing. I think I had a vague memory of meeting Bill's son. He was a younger, slimmer, slightly taller version of his father, as I recall. Whether he was a great kid or not, I couldn't have told you then, and I certainly couldn't tell you now.

'Yes. There's Scott, who's eighteen. Then Laura. She's fifteen. Then there's Albie, who's five. 'Our little accident', Helen and I call him. She was on the pill, and it's not like we were honeymooners, but these things happen. They say the pill is ninety-nine percent effective, but we turned out to be the one percent. Not that we don't love him, of cour...'

'I don't want to be rude, Bill,' I said, with a slightly strained smile. 'But is this going anywhere?'

'Sure, sorry. So, anyway...Scott. Yeah, Scott. Well, the thing is, I suffer with a bad back. I have done for years. I'm carrying too much weight. The doctors keep telling me to lose a few pounds, and I try, but goddamn isn't it just totally fucked up that everything that's good for you, tastes so shitty. And everything that's bad for you, tastes so nice?'

I assumed this was a rhetorical question, so said nothing. He looked at me for a second, sensing my increasing irritation, then hastily continued with his monologue.

'Okay, okay, so I have a bad back and that means I sometimes struggle to get to sleep. The other night, it was really bad. And then, well, let's be honest, my bladder's not what it used to be, so that keeps me awake. And also I get a dry mouth at night, because my blood sugar's too high. So, eventually I decide to go downstairs and get a drink. And I'm walking down the stairs and I see a light on in the front room. It was about one in the morning, and I assumed everyone had gone to bed. I thought maybe someone forgot to turn the TV off, but actually that couldn't be true because it's one of those fancy TVs that switch themselves off if you don't use them for a long time. You got one of them? You can get them pretty cheap these days.'

I just looked at him, not knowing whether to smirk or frown.

'Okay, okay, so the TV was on. I got to the bottom of the stairs and I walked to the front room. And...and...'

'And?' I asked.

'Scott was jerking off.'

I burst out laughing. A yelp, a bark. All this rigmarole, all this blather, and this was what he wanted to tell me?

'Yeah, I know, it's kind of stupid. I mean he's a teenager. That's what teenagers do. Christ, that's what I was doing when I was his age. It was practically my vocation in life.'

'Sure, me too,' I said, trying to swallow my laughter, and not entirely achieving my aim, 'But why are you telling me this?'

'Aah yes, why am I telling you? Yeah...why am I telling you?' He almost whispered to himself. 'You see, that fancy new television we have...it's one of those huge flat screen things you put on the wall. It's likely fifty inches in diameter, or something. High definition. And it's one of those Smart TVs, the ones you can use to access the internet?'

'Yeah, I know, we've got one similar. I don't think it fifty inches, but it's pretty big.'

'So that's what he was watching...while he...you know...masturbated.' He said, almost whispering the final word. 'He'd gone online to one of those tube sites. Where all the free porn is?'

I knew exactly what he meant. I was a middle-aged man, with easy access to the internet. I wouldn't have said I was a porn connoisseur - although I was about to become one - but my metaphorical mouse may have slipped on occasion.

'Okay, so your son was rubbing one out to pirated porn? What's the big deal? I know there's a Republican in the White House these days, but no one's banning pornography. Or masturbation, for that matter.'

'No. It's what he was watching, that's the thing. Like I said, I have a big screen television, fifty inches in diameter. I could see every detail of what he was watching. I could see the girl on screen, in all her glory, as it were.'

'And?'

'It was Lucy.' He said, softly.

'Lucy?' I repeated. Totally nonplussed.

'Lucy...your daughter, Lucy.'

So, yeah, that was it. That was the moment. Right there, at a little past eleven o'clock in the morning on a perfectly ordinary Friday. That was the moment. The moment when everything changed.

3

A few hours later, and I was back home, sat in my study, scouring the internet for porn. More precisely, I was scouring the internet for porn featuring my nineteen year old daughter.

When Bill told me, told me about what he'd seen, told me about who he'd seen, I just looked at him for what felt like a lifetime.

'What?' I finally said. It was about all I could manage to say.

'Yeah, sorry man. I know it's kind of weird. Shit, I've been really nervous about telling you. I mean, it's fucking crazy, right?'

'What the fuck is this?' My voice was rising in volume. Not shouting, but louder than normal. No sarcasm or levity now. Just absolute serious intent.

'What?'

'I mean, is this some kind of joke, Bill? Because if it is, it's not very goddamn funny. Are you shitting with me?'

'No man, no way. This is no joke.' There was a look of complete panic on his face, as if he thought I was about to hit him. To be completely honest, I wasn't far away from doing exactly that.

'You come in here with this bullshit about my daughter? My fucking daughter!?'

'Look, Mark, I understand. I'd be angry too if someone started saying crazy stuff about my kids. I get you, I really get you. But, I saw what I saw.'

'And what exactly did you see?'

'Like I said, it was a porn video. It was two girls, actually...you know...doing shit together.'

'And one of those girls 'doing shit together', was my daughter?'

'I think so.'

'You think so?'

'Yeah. I mean, I'm, I'm pretty sure it was her.'

'Pretty sure?'

'Yes. Look, I've only met her a few times, and seen pictures of her on your Facebook page, but she makes a hell of an impression. She's not the kind of girl you're likely to forget.'

That was certainly true. Lucy was a strikingly attractive young woman. Once you saw her, you definitely remembered her.

'You say this was a porn video?' I inquired, a dash of disbelief and an increasing sense of dread building up in the pit of my stomach. Dread, combined with an almost overwhelming sensation of discomfort and embarrassment. This was not a conversation I wanted to be having with anyone at any time, let alone with this douche-bag. 'Some kind of sex tape? How the fuck did your son get access to a video of my daughter having sex? Did someone upload it to this porn site?'

The fact that Lucy was having sex, was not something I really wanted to consider. At least not then. Soon, it would be all I wanted to consider, but this was a very different and more innocent time. I suppose, if I had given it any thought, I must've imagined she was likely to be sexually active. She was nineteen, an incredibly beautiful girl; she'd certainly have no shortage of potential suitors, both male and female. We considered ourselves a resolutely progressive family, we didn't hide our bodies or create any impression that sex was shameful or wrong.

So, Lucy was having sex? So what? Lucy was having sex with another girl? Again, so what? If she was gay or bisexual or just experimenting, why should that bother me? If this was any kind of outrage, it was simply because her privacy had been violated, not because she was having sex. With another girl. Assuming Bill's eyesight hadn't deteriorated the same way the rest of his body had, assuming this was my daughter on tape...having sex...with another girl...there was no crime here. No crime, other than someone stealing her private property and then sticking it online.

Those were the kind of things I should've been thinking, the kind of things I'd tell myself to be thinking. But instead, all I was actually thinking was that I was a bad parent and my daughter was a total fucking slut.

Which, from the somewhat different perspective on things I have now, actually seems a pretty accurate assessment of affairs.

I am a bad parent...

And my daughter is a total fucking slut...

Thank God.

Lucy was 'lezzing up' with a girlfriend and she'd filmed herself doing it? That seemed like all kinds of crazy to me, but I was from a different, older generation. Kids these days lived online, used their phones to film everything. And that included fucking. But, again, how did Bill Haslam's horny son get to see it?

'It wasn't that kind of video.' Bill explained. 'It wasn't a sex tape. It was a porn film. A proper porn film. Lucy...or whoever this is, who looks like Lucy...was in a porno.'

This seemed even more bizarre. I mean, sure, I could just about get my head round the idea that my daughter had been caught fooling around with a friend, being kind of slutty on her cell phone, and somehow that clip gets passed around her other friends at college. It would be unbelievably mortifying, for me, my wife and my daughter; but we could handle it. But this? The idea she had shot a porn film? That was just pure grade-A bullshit. It had to be.

'You're telling me my daughter is a porn star?'

'Fuck, I don't know. It looked like her. Maybe it wasn't. I'm sorry I ever mentioned it.'

'What was her name?'

'Sorry?'

'What was her name? This girl in the scene, you said looked like Lucy? I assume you're not telling me my daughter was performing in a porn film and using her real name?'

'No. No, I'm not. It was...uh...Mia something. Mia Maverick. That was it.'

'And what was the scene called?'

'I think it was something like 'My Stepdaughter is a Whore'...uh...'Volume Four'.'

So that was why, no more than a few hours later I was back home, in my study, scouring the internet for porn. Namely, the aforementioned 'My Stepdaughter is a Whore: Volume Four', featuring a promising young starlet called Mia Maverick. An adult entertainment phenom who, as I would shortly discover, was my nineteen year old biological daughter.