The next plan of attack

The terror, shock and outrage that Sam felt in that moment blended together in a nightmarish cocktail.

His daughter was continuing to look up at him in a way no one should their father, the remnants of their taboo act still drooling from the corner of her mouth. The shock of it all held him in a deep paralysis, as his daughter continued to fondle and caress his spent cock back to hardness.

The pleasure of it was intoxicating, but his conscience refused to be smothered. He gently pushed his daughter away and sprang to his feet, his erect cock standing proudly inches from her face. Cursing himself, he pulled his pants up and stared down at his kneeling, lust-filled daughter.

"What the FUCK Stella?" He struggled to keep the hysteria out of his voice. "You can't...this....fuck, this is so wrong!"

His daughter merely pouted. "Daddy, why won't you let me show you how much I love you?" She gestured down the hall, "I just finished eating Mom out, so it's only fair I do the same with you, right?"

He stared at her.

Fuck, it was the words, the wishes, the magic shit. Now that he was properly awake and the shock had passed he began to process everything in a more rational manner. He didn't know what exactly he had said to have caused this sudden bout of **** infused lust from his daughter, but he wasn't about to sit back and concede defeat to it. Despite everything that had happened over the last couple of days Sam hadn't surrendered himself to complete debauchery just yet. There had to be a way to fix all of this.

His mind flashed back to that email. Everything stemmed from that first fucking email and the second one had left him instructions, coordinates. But what were they? Something about a full moon? A location. Longitude something, latitude something else. Fuck. He couldn't remember. He'd need to check his phone or work computer.

Yet when he patted his pants pocket, it was empty.

He desperately groped around his person. Nothing. He looked down at the couch and began feeling between the cushions. Empty. He spat a curse and then turned back to his kneeling daughter, who was still eyeing his crotch hungrily.

"Have you seen my phone?"

Stella blinked, and looked at him. "I dunno, I didn't touch it," she bit her lip, "you suuuure you don't want me to keep sucking you off? Or maybe you could cum in my tight little cunt?"

The words only served to motivate his search. He practically turned the couch inside out looking for the device. A string of curses escaped him when he realised with horror that he had left the damn thing back at the office, during his quick dash to escape the lion's den.

Fuck, how could he go about fixing this? He needed those coordinates if he was to do anything about the absolute deranged shit show that his life had become. But dare he risk going back in the office where Vicky, and possibly any number of her goons would be waiting to fuck his shit up and potential **** him into some kind of weird mafia shotgun wedding?

His brain wracked itself looking for answers while he absently swatted his daughter's hands away from his groin. Eventually an idea struck.

Jerry.

Of course. Jerry could go to and from work, he could find the phone and drop it off to him at a safe place. It would all work out ok!

He didn't waste time, rushing down his newly extended hallway to the closet where he kept his work stuff. Of course since his house had been transformed that little closet with a few files had become an entire room that served as a home office. He didn't know Jerry's number offhand, but he was certain he had it written down amongst his work notes.

The process of flipping through his various notes and printouts was a pain, especially in his harried state, but it was made worse when Stella popped her head in the door.

"Daddy?"

Sam rubbed his eyes in frustration. "For fuck sake Stella, I'm not going to....do...anything with you, Jesus Christ!"

"We'll see about that," she gave him a lascivious wink before holding out the house phone. "But, uh...someone from your work is on the phone. They wanna talk to you."

Hesitantly he went over and took the phone from his daughter's outstretched hand, feeling his heart pound in his chest like a caged beast. Who would be calling him? And why? Fuck, Vicky would almost certainly have his number, and now Stella had just confirmed that he was home. Fucking fuck fucker.

But there was also a chance that it was Jerry himself, and that would save him a lot of time and effort. He could sort this shit out and return his life to normalcy. The finish line was in sight!

He swallowed uneasily and spoke into the receiver.

"H-hello?"

There was a pause, and then a familiar voice answered.

"Sam Blake. I have your phone."