She was even more startled when, without warning, Phillippa took Marla’s head in her hands, grasping her behind the ears, and pressed Marla’s lips against her own. Phillippa achieved what she wanted when she noticed Marla’s eyes flash in that unmistakeable way that indicated a suddenly awakened desire. Phillippa was too intelligent to squander her advantage by following through with her tongue. She placed an open palm on Marla’s crotch and briefly nuzzled her jaw and ear, before pulling herself off with an apologetic grin. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ Phillippa said coquettishly. ‘I just don’t know what came over me!’ She left a flustered Marla and entered the loo where she sat on the toilet seat, thankfully one built on the British rather than the French model, and spent her time smoking a cigarette and reflecting on the signs of reciprocal lust that Marla had betrayed. That was good! She relished the memory of Marla’s earring brushing against her nose and the girl’s hot breath on her cheek.. He knew he had a huge problem on his hands. How many men have unknowingly gangbanged their own daughters? He had felt sick to the stomach, like a giant knot had been tied in his gut, and had barely remembered to call work and say he was sick. He had spent the day wandering aimlessly around the house, going back to double check the footage before wandering more. His wanderings took him into Emily's room, and something caught his eye; her laptop, which sat on her desk. Maybe if he searched, he could find proof, proof that it wasn't her. It couldn't be her. It had to be a trick. He sat down and turned it on. Of course he knew her password, she was his daughter. And yet he hadn't known her incest rape fantasy. He hadn't known her body... Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus. He brought up her documents folder. Nothing interesting. Photos? No. Maybe she was still the innocent girl he remembered? Google came next. As soon as he clicked the search bar, a list of recent searches.
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