Robin gets a hard-on

Robin's entire world narrowed to the soft weight of Sofie's head in his lap and the monumental effort of not moving. He stared down at her, his gaze tracing the elegant line of her neck, the perfect swell of her yellow-painted breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath. They looked like two sun-ripened fruits, the nipples tight and pointed, seemingly more pronounced than before. He could feel the heat of her scalp through his thin shorts, a warmth that seemed to travel directly to his groin. He clenched his jaw, his hands gripping the couch cushions on either side of him so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Don't move. Don't touch. Just look. Just breathe.

But looking was its own form of ****. It was intimate, possessive. He was memorizing every curve, every painted line he had so painstakingly applied. His body, however, had a mind of its own. A slow, undeniable heat began to pool low in his belly. He felt a familiar tightening, a thickening against his thigh. No, no, not now, not here, he begged himself, but it was a losing battle. The pressure grew, insistent and undeniable, until the fabric of his shorts began to tent. And with that growth came a new, horrifying reality. The rigid shape was now pressing directly against Sofie's cheek.

Sofie's eyes, which had been squeezed shut in a prayer of concentration, flew open. A new warmth, distinct from the comforting heat of Robin's leg, was blooming against the side of her face. It was firm, and it was growing. Her mind, already a frantic scramble of panic and humiliation, stuttered to a halt. She didn't need to look to the side. She knew exactly what it was. A wave of heat, far more intense than any blush, washed over her entire body. It was a mortifying, electrifying confirmation of everything she feared: Robin wasn't just her friend helping her out; he was a man, and she was a naked woman in his lap. Her breath hitched, and she let out a tiny, strangled squeak.

The sound, combined with her subtle, panicked recoil, still hold her fsther's hand alot, tipped the iceberg. In his deep sleep, her father shifted, seeking the support he had just lost. With a soft, sleepy sigh, he slid sideways down the couch cushions. His movement was slow, inexorable. Sofie watched in frozen horror as his face descended toward her lap. There was no time to escape. His cheek came to rest directly on the smooth, painted skin of her exposed mound, the scratch of his evening stubble a bizarre, abrasive sensation. His nose, warm and damp with sleep, pressed into the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

It was the final straw. A silent scream built in her chest. But she dared not make a sound. Her own father was using her naked body as a pillow.

Before she could even process this new level of hell, he shifted again, getting comfortable. He nuzzled his face deeper into her lap and, with a contented murmur, wrapped his arms around her hips. One arm slung low across her painted "shorts," and thigh that was spread to the side, his hand coming to rest on the curve of her buttock. The other arm draped over her stomach, his fingers accidentally brushing the underside of her yellow-painted breasts. She was trapped. Pinned. A living, breathing, painted doll in the embrace of her oblivious father. His soft snoring continued.

Tears of pure, unadulterated humiliation welled in her eyes. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. Her gaze darted up to Robin, a silent, **** plea for help.

But Robin was no longer in a position to offer any. His face was a mask of arousal and disbelief. The sight of Mr. Henderson nuzzling his daughter's most intimate place, of his arms possessively holding her, was so shocking it momentarily short-circuited his brain. And his body, which had been teetering on the edge, took this final, impossible stimulus as a green light. His erection, which had been pressing against her cheek, gave a definitive, powerful throb, becoming an undeniable ridge of pressure against her face.

Sofie's reaction was purely physical. She began to flinch, a full-body jolt of revulsion and shock. It was tiny movements, but it was enough. Her father, disturbed in his sleep, tightened his grip, pulling her closer. His hands slid further around his "pillow," his stuble pressing into her lower lips, the side of his hand now pushing up against the underside of her breast. The weight was a violation. The intimacy was a nightmare.

Robin saw it all. He saw her tear-filled eyes, the utter despair on her face, the way her lip trembled. The lust that had been clouding his vision evaporated, replaced by a tidal wave of protective fury and guilt. This wasn't a beautiful moment; it was a violation. He had let this happen. It was his fault. He had been thinking with his dick while she was being trapped by her own father's sleep-movements. The shame was a physical blow.

He had to do something. He couldn't let her endure this alone.

Carefully, with a control he didn't know he possessed, Robin began to move slowly. He didn't try to touch her. He didn't try to move her dad. He moved himself. He shifted his weight, angling his body away from hers, creating a sliver of space between his lap and her head. He had to physically lift his hips off the couch to free his trapped erection, the movement awkward and conspicuous. He tucked himself painfully into the waistband of his shorts, a grimace of discomfort on his face. Then, he reached out. Not for her. For the blanket.

Viki, who had been watching with her hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and illicit thrill, understood immediately. She silently nodded and helped him shake out the thick fleece throw from the back of the armchair.

Robin leaned forward, his body shielding the action from Sofie's line of sight. He gently draped the blanket around her... between her head and his dick... between her fsther's hand and her hip... between his other hand and her breast. This last part covered her enough to be percieved by the curse which made the blanket go invisible. But at least there was a barrier. For modesty. For sanity. For them both.

Sofie let out a shuddering breath, the first one she felt she could take in minutes. She could still feel her father's arms, but now his grip was less violating. She could still feel the ghost of Robin's pressure against her face, but now it was just a memory. She closed her eyes, a single tear escaping and tracing a path through the crimson blush on her cheek. She was trapped, exposed, and her sex was still being used as a pillow by her dad. But for the first time in an hour, she felt like she might just survive the night.