Sprung Cleaning

Daphne probably would have slept completely naked if she hadn’t just passed out from exhaustion. The shower had given her enough energy to go for another hour-long session with Big Blue. The mess he helped her make matted her wiry, triangular patch of pubic hair she surprisingly still put the effort into curating. As it was, she lay on her bed, tank top pulled above her tits, fine layer of sweat mostly evaporated from her smooth skin. The dildo, still sticky and slightly warm from use, was flopped lazily by her ankles, tip dangling over the edge of the bed.

It was quiet for a while, then the door creaked open in a self-conscious, embarrassed sort of way. Daphne wasn’t stirred, so the shadow, already low to the floor, hunched lower still and half stalked, half stumbled into the room. The smell was always a mixed bag for Casey. It was unpleasant of course, but so distilled that it really was the essence of his daughter. The stink of a young athlete’s sweat, the musky oil of her frequently underwashed hair… and the unmistakable pungency of frustration and arousal of his hormonal daughter. It often left him tingling and in need of a good soak in the bathtub.

“Stinky girl,” he muttered to himself as he crept across the carpet, searching for his quarry. He found the first morsel, plucked the underwear off the floor and narrowed his eyes at it. His nostrils twitched but he gathered it into a fist and quickly moved on, like a shark honing in on more droplets of blood in the water. Another pair of undies, a dark grey pair, and even in the lightless gloom, with his slightly blurred vision, he could see the profuse wetness that had marked and soiled the crotch… dried grool that suddenly made Casey’s mouth water. He shook his head, a mistake, because then the entire room seemed to shake for a few seconds too, but his stifled burp made him feel better and then he continued his hunt. This was his little **** for her petulant lip at dinner. To invade her pungent little sty of a room and… make it less messy. See how she liked it! This was all just her little affront to his tidiness, Casey knew. An opprobrious mark against his perfectly kept home. It wasn’t just the laziness and carelessness of adolescence. She was sending him a message. A disrespectful, stinky message. Not that he would ever call her out on it, at the risk of upsetting her...or worse, upsetting himself… But now, in the comfort of shadow and the haze of more than his one self-allotted glass of wine… Casey would tear down his daughter’s malodourous empire one sock at a time.

He spotted a gym sock. Under a backpack was its nearly lost partner with a hole in the toe. A sweatband. A pair of shorts that could almost be considered clean if energy drink hadn’t been spilled on it. Another set of underwear… he recognized it from earlier. The stripy ones Daphne had practically pranced to dinner in. They were still slightly warm… or so he imagined it… definitely still damp… and suddenly he couldn’t resist and held it close to his nose and breathed in. He let out a shuddering exhalation as the womanly scent wound its way around his wine addled brain. “Stinky… girl…” he quietly gasped, sitting up and closing his eyes a moment. When he opened them again he realised he was right by her bed now. He saw then the rising shadows, like he was at the foot of a glorious mountain range, of his daughter’s naked, muscled body. Her legs were sculpted to show off individual bulges of muscle Casey could never name, but knew were nice to look at. Same with the chiseled abs, which seemed to implore a soft hand to smooth over. And those bare, naked breasts… sat high, and large, and loomed like hills begging to be scaled, hand over foot. The tips were topped with the perfect little spout standing stiff and tall…

Casey was more than a little breathless right now, and every breath he took filled his lungs and mind with his daughter. The wrongness of the thoughts and feelings butted up against his long endured loneliness. He imagined being held close by those big strong arms… and licking the salty dew from her skin. Keep the nice thought... shelve the naughty one. He hugged the collection of softly soiled laundry to his chest and let his eyes wander, up and down… then he spotted the shirts on the chair. He found new resolve and got to his wobbly feet, lurching over to the new pile of clothes to conquer. “Stinky girl…” he mumbled again, unable to help himself to a sniff of the myriad tank tops he was unfolding from the back of the chair onto his arm. Balance escaped him momentarily and he had to plant a steadying hand onto the desk, and a heavy something was knocked over and its contents clattered onto the carpet. He squinted down at the scattered pens and pencils and the tipped mug with a stylised dolphin printed on the side. “Messy girl…”

“Dad?”

The man froze, icy tingle shooting up his spine. “What… is that you? What are you doing?”

Daphne sat up, rubbing her eyes as her vision adjusted to the cloying darkness. She saw the trembling grey silhouette of her father at the foot of her bed by her desk, confused. He seemed to be swaying, then hiccoughed. “Are you drunk? Where’s mom?” she asked, still a blur and wishing someone else would deal with whatever this was.

“Still working…” she heard him mutter, and the tinge of sadness in his voice made her glance over to the alarm clock, red digits glowing like the tiny flame now reignited in her chest. It was two in the morning, and Daphne suddenly felt wide awake.

“Why are you in here?” she demanded from her father who shrunk back, even though she hadn’t been particularly loud.

“Cleaning…” he admitted quietly, almost shamefully. “Stinky...” he added, bordering on nonsensical now. He hiccoughed again. The sharp, bubbling noise felt like a slap in the face to Daphne. She just about leapt out of bed and grabbed her father’s shaking wrist. In the dark, he only saw the mad glint in his daughter’s eyes. He squeaked. “Stinky?”

“You need to sober up,” she said calmly, in the same way a hunting lion might say anything calmly. She dragged him away from the desk, her strength from years on the school wrestling team irresistible against her slight, gentle yoga practicing father. Casey managed to stretch a thin arm out and snatch the last, wrinkled tank top off the chair, before nearly being carried out of his daughter’s bedroom.