Chapter Text
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any existing people or events is coincidental. If a story involving sexual contact with minors bothers you or is illegal where you live, stop reading now.
Invisible - Part One
"Daddy... what's for breakfast?"
I'm at the sink, washing up last night's dishes. My wife had left early for an extended business trip, and we hadn't wanted to waste our last hours together in the scullery.
I turn and look around the kitchen, apparently befuddled.
"That's so strange. I could have sworn I heard Samantha's voice, but I can't see her anywhere."
My eight-year-old rolls her eyes. "Daddddyyyyy... we don't... play that game anymore."
I cock my head to the side, listening intently. "It sounds like it's coming from everywhere. How strange." I shrug and turn back to the sink.
Sam pokes me in the side. "Daddy. I'm right herrrrreeee..."
I jump, startled. "I must be dreaming. A disembodied voice, and now a ghostly touch."
She sighs. "You said we can't play that game, Daddy... you said cuz... I was getting older... and..."
I hum a little tune. Look forlornly at the calendar and mumble as though to myself. "Two whole weeks without Mommy. I hope we can find fun things to do. I wouldn't want Sam to be bored. We used to have so much fun when she was little."
In the corner of my eye, Sam chews her lip until an impish grin seems to force its way onto her face. One more prompt should do it. "I wonder if she remembers the rule. It's been such a long time."
A silence. Then her small voice, not filling the quiet as much as deepening it. "I remember, Daddy."
A soft rustle. One small bare foot slaps at the floor as if a little girl is hopping on it. Another moment.
"D-Daddy... what's for breakfast?" Spoken like a line from a play.
I jump again as though interrupted from a deep thought. Turn to the source of the question.
"Why there you are, Sam. Good morning, sweetheart. I thought I heard you earlier, but you were nowhere to be found."
Her cheeks bright red, the smile adorably tentative, her eyes at her toes, darting up at me between words.
"Oh... I was being invisible, Daddy."
I kneel and touch her cheek, the barest brush. "Were you now. You know that's a dirty trick, don't you? Fooling your Daddy like that."
I coax a gentle giggle as I tuck her long auburn hair behind her ear. "There's my pretty girl. My beautiful baby. Now I can see you, sweetheart. I can see all of you."
Sam's pajamas are on the chair next to her. She's completely naked. She'd remembered the rules.
I'd invented the game when she was four and I was playing stay-at-home Dad. It was something we shared, a little secret, just us. Mommy wouldn't understand. It started with the mundane... her shirt pulled halfway over her head... Where's Samantha? Where did she go? and then the reveal as her tousled noggin emerged... Therrrre she isss... amid a peal of crystalline laughter. It was a only few short steps from there to the simple core rule of the game. When Mommy wasn't home, clothes made Samantha invisible. First shirts gained this magical power, then pants. Soon I could only see her when she was entirely exposed. "My eyes want to see you, princess. Just you. Not with anything in between." Too young for modesty then, she seemed to soak up the attention like a dry sponge.
We'd stopped when I'd gone back to work, just before her seventh birthday. I could tell that she was beginning to chafe at it, her awareness of her body growing day by day. And my wife had the talk with me, about how girls start to change even at that young age and that I should start keeping a towel around me when I came out of the shower. I nodded earnestly and agreed without visible hesitation. Of course, that's how things should be.
Now here, and now. Hips a little wider, bottom a little rounder, but still the same perfect tiny specimen of girl. The chest boyish but not unresponsive to the cool air, tiny points in a crinkle. I move my hands to her hips and then back up her sides under the slender arms, my thumbs at the sharpness, over and back, teasing them to more emphatic stiffness. She closes her eyes. She remembers.
"I missed seeing you, princess. It's been so long."
A whisper. A hint of urgency. "I missed... it... too, Daddy."
I kiss her forehead. "What comes next, kitten? Do you remember?"
Eyes still closed, she rocks on her toes until her elegant feet are spread just wider than her shoulders. Her hands reach out and find my neck and she leans into my chest as my hands move, back to their familiar place, to the utterly smooth infinite softness of the child.
Invisible - Part Two
Two weeks. Enough time to establish new norms and new habits.
Samantha, home from school, pads into my office where I'm at work at my desk. She leans against the back of my chair, looking over my shoulder. Kisses my cheek, ever so softly.
"I'm home, Daddy."
I scratch at my cheek curiously, still focused on my screen. She stays for just a long moment. I can smell her, subtle girl scents... wool and soap and peppermint in an envelope of fresh air from outside. Intoxicating, but I resist the urge to respond.
She goes, but just for two minutes. Then I feel the warm skin of her tummy against my arm.
"I'm home, Daddy."
"Oh! There's my pretty girl. How was school, sweetheart?"
There's no need to comment on her nakedness. This is how things are, how they're supposed to be. I pat my thigh and she rests her elegant bottom against it. Although we're at Day Three of our game, her cheeks still bear the most enchanting pink glow. Still some time before her modesty is entirely stripped away.
"Boring," she says, exasperated with the mundane as only an eight-year-old girl can be.
I hug her chest, my fingers working intently to draw out the tiny sharp points. She isn't surprised by this. Progress.
"That's because you're smarter than all the rest, princess. You'll just have to be patient with them."
My words fill her small round face with a grin. She squirms in my arms and I pull her up to sit on my leg. I tap the inside of her knee, just once.
The slightest pause before she shifts one leg over my thigh, now astride me. My hand moves with purpose down her tummy to rest casually atop her simple bare cleft. This is where Daddy's hand belongs. It's how we are when we cuddle. You need to open up to let him hold you there. Unspoken but understood.
"Tell me all about it, kitten."
She speaks slowly and my fingers work in time with her words. After a bit her eyes close and her voice trails off.
"There's my girl. That's nice, isn't it? So warm there. Your cunny likes this. Needs it. You're so beautiful, princess. So perfect."
Pretty. Beautiful. Perfect. She only heard these words when she wasn't invisible.
The tiniest tip of her chin. I'm patient, persistent at her almost imperceptible nub, circling before pinching, teasing before twisting, each nipple in turn likewise addressed. I hold her like a cello, top and bottom played in concert. Soon she stiffens... a quiet whimper... a delicate shudder rising up from curled toes. A child's orgasm, understated and not obscene, perfect in its simple joy. We bask for an indeterminate time before her eyes flutter open.
"Do you have homework, sweetpea?"
"Some, ya."
"Do you need help?"
She nods, but I know that she doesn't actually need help. She is in fact too smart for third grade. She's asking for my attention. I gladly comply, my nose inhaling her impossibly sweet hair, my hands never leaving her lithe nude body as she works through the simple math problems, chewing the end of her pencil.
Invisible - Part Three
Attention is a powerfully addictive drug for children. Once you begin to drip it into their veins, you can see their hunger grow. If you slow or stop the supply, their pangs begin almost immediately. They'll do most anything to avoid the agony of withdrawal.
I'm at my desk, video chatting with a like-minded associate. I'd built up a level of trust with this man. We'd shared things that gave us each a path to Mutually Assured Destruction should either violate our confidence.
I made a point with Sam that morning that I was busy with work and shouldn't be disturbed. Her tolerance of this lasts until 10:35am. At that time she pokes her head into my office.
"What are you dooooinnnggg?" Her voice is tinged with annoyance. Whatever I was up to couldn't possibly be more important than paying attention to her.
"I'm talking with a friend, kitten. You can come in. In fact, I expect he'd like to meet you."
She studies my screen from a distance... sees my face in the inset chat window and understands that my camera is on. She hesitates.
"Daddy... I'm..."
"Yes. He won't mind, pumpkin."
"Daddy. He'll... see me..."
"Yes. He'll see you pretty you are." I pat my knee. She approaches tentatively, curious anxious teeth at her lip. She perches her rump delicately on my leg. I pull her close, hand at her waist. She's visible on camera from her navel up.
A voice from the speakers. A broad smile on the screen. "Hello, Samantha. How lovely to meet you. Your Dad has told me so much about you."
"He has?"
"He has indeed. But he didn't tell me everything, it seems. He didn't tell me how stunningly pretty you are."
Sam couldn't suppress a tiny grin.
"What do you say, Sam? When someone gives you such a nice compliment."
"Oh. T-Thanks..."
"This is Mister Owens. Thank him properly," I prompt.
"T-Thanks. I mean... Thank you, Mister Owens."
"And such fine manners, too. You're clearly being raised the right way, Samantha."
The color rises in her cheeks. Without asking I lift her from her waist and deposit her in my lap, facing the camera, her slender legs straddling mine. Mister Owens might have caught a glimpse of her lowers in the process. I open my knees, spreading her wide under the desk. Owens' arm is moving in a tell-tale manner, his hand out of sight but almost certainly occupying his own lap.
I let them talk and get to know each other. Owens is comfortable speaking with children. He'd raised his own girls, though they were all adults now and not a daily part of his life. The poor man missed their younger years terribly. I was happy to help him relive some of his fond memories.
I gently masturbate my daughter as they chat prosaically. School, and swimming... innocent stories from his daughters' childhood. Soon he ventures into less innocent stories, the details implicit. "They liked to be naked too, at your age..." Sam's responses grow shorter, distraction growing on her face.
"Is something the matter, Sam?" Owens asks. "I'm not boring you, am I?"
"N-no... no sir... just... my Dad..."
"Oh. Is he tickling you?"
"Ummm. Ya." This seems a safe reply.
"Do you like it when he tickles you, Samantha?"
She pauses. Glances back at me. I just nod, giving her permission and allowing her to decide what to do with it.
"Y-ya. I... like it..."
I kiss her neck and roll the chair back, exposing my hand to the camera where it rests nestled at the cleft of her legs.
"Daddy... I don't..."
"Shhh. It's okay. Close your eyes if you want, sweetheart. Just relax. He wants to see how beautiful you are when you cum."
She squirms and whimpers a protest, but finally leans back against me and lets her eyelids droop. Soon she's putty in my arms, giving herself over to the feelings. She glances back at the screen from time to time, taking in Owens' obvious eager stare.
"Lovely, isn't she?" I offer.
"A treasure. Exquisite. An absolute joy. I'm... speechless..."
Samantha gasps quietly, touch and words feeding each other. My free hand pinches each tiny nipple in turn, firm but not rough, coaxing them to rigid attention. Goosebumps down her pale arms. She trembles and reaches down, pressing me deeper into her woke softness, its needs now asserting primacy over shame. Her slickness is the thin mild dew of the very young, but it allows me entry... just one finger, wriggling into the heat... the middle, leaving the others free to incite. I'd eliminated her barrier long ago, in the bathtub, with a quick sharp poke. Now I impaled her to the second knuckle and she inhales, hips flexing against my inexorable pressure.
"Cum for Daddy, baby girl. Cum for Mister Owens. He wants to see you, beautiful Sam."
I twist her diminutive nub between thumb and finger, accelerating until she squeaks... back arched in my lap, bare toes tiny fists, a rhythm of hugs around my embedded digit.
After a time she opens her eyes to see Mister Owens on the screen carefully licking his messy hand. Her face is curious.
"He liked it very much, kitten. We'll talk about that later. Okay?"
She nods slowly.
"It... it was very nice to meet you, Samantha." Owens seems to suffer from lack of blood to the brain as he finds his words.
"You too, Mister Owens." Sam is glowing, her voice a little sleepy. I shut the chat window.
Whispers in her ear, wrapped tight in my arms. "What a kind, wonderful girl you are, Sam. You gave him a beautiful gift, letting him see you." I turn her head and kiss her lips for minutes, not seconds.
Finally we part, mouths still close. "I need to get back to work, princess. We'll get some lunch in a bit, okay?"
Her pout is painful to me, but I endure it. Swat her bottom as she retreats. Her forgiveness in a giggle.
Invisible - Part Four
I'm a huge fan of plausible deniability. Serendipity sometimes assists.
I'd been subtly guiding Samantha's 'self discovery' of her body since she was tiny. The bath is the obvious place. Just a little extra attention to the right spots... the odd look on her small round face as my fingers lingered... later, her own fingers there, searching to recall that sensation. Nothing to worry about, all the parenting guides say. As long as it doesn't become obsessive.
Then serendipity. Christmas when she was six. Honestly, I didn't instigate this. It was all my wife, and it surprised her as much as it did me. In our bedtime reading with Sam, we'd made it through the first Harry Potter book, and she was enthralled. A precocious child, Sam is. So under the tree, in a fascinatingly oblong package, Sam unwrapped the Harry Potter Nimbus 2000 Broomstick. It immediately became her favorite toy. It took batteries, for the sound effects... and the vibration.
Yes, it vibrated. Parents began to figure this out. Adult bookstores began to sell it as a sex toy. My wife found Samantha curled up with it in bed, very obviously enjoying it in a way the toymakers may or may not have intended.
"Oh God," whispered my wife to me. "What have I done? I've taught her to... you know..." I reassured. All children do it. It's a good excuse to talk to her about her body, and about sex. She nodded, a mix of sadness and anxiety.
The Talk ensued. My wife reported that Sam blushed furiously throughout. "Boys have what? They do what? You and Daddy did WHAT?" The self-comforting part was the easiest, she said. Sam seemed just fine with the message that touching down there was all well and good, but something to be done in private.
This opened a new door for me. Sam and I had our own talk. She still had questions, but she'd sensed how uncomfortable her mother was with the topic. I gave her permission to ask anything. Over time, the definition of 'private' came to include things she discussed with me... and did with me. The Invisible Game was a prime example. Mommy wouldn't understand. I instructed my child with gradual touches. Encouraged her own exploration in my presence. Then one day when she was six, we two curled up on the couch watching TV, she bereft of clothing, my hand casually resting just there, she squirmed... pressed her smooth mons against my palm... whispered... "Do it harder, Daddy."
It's possible she'd previously achieved some sort of orgasm on her own, but I believe that particular occasion was revelatory.
Some spill-over was inevitable. Sam's lack of modesty around the house raised my wife's eyebrows. Another talk. I was headed back to work, so my alone-time with my daughter would be limited. We put the Invisible Game on hold. It seemed the safe and prudent thing to do. Sam was disappointed. I reassured her with my words, and my hands. Even dressed, there were ways that I touched her when Mommy wasn't home that made it clear that I still loved her. Unspoken... unrequited... for a time.
Now, over a year later, two weeks alone with her. I'm not sure if Sam anticipated what might happen. She remembered, though. She remembered everything.
Invisible - Part Five
It's so much nicer when she asks. When my daughter takes the first step down a new road, showing her curiosity, her bravery. It's often just a careful first step that she ventures. When she does, I'm there to take her hand and lead her down the path of discovery.
"Daddy, do it harder." A simple expression of desire, an acquiescence to her awakening body, an acceptance of her nudity. This was perhaps the first example. She was amply rewarded for her courage.
Later, at lunch. Naked Lunch, for her. A novel in progress.
"So what was that, on his hand?" she ventures.
I think she knows. I encourage her to get comfortable speaking about these things with me.
"What do you suppose it was, Sam?"
Color in her cheeks. "His... stuff?"
"His semen. Yes."
"He was... eating it?" Furrowed brow, some mix of disgust and disbelief.
"Yes. Some men do that. I think it means he had an especially strong orgasm and wanted to savor it."
It takes her a moment to process the wordplay. The understanding only crinkles her forehead more deeply.
"So he was... when he was watching me..."
"He was rubbing his penis until he came."
She stares at her PBJ. "Because of me?"
"Very definitely because of you, princess. You don't realize how incredibly beautiful you are."
She nibbled silently for a time. We're comfortable not talking, she and I.
"You don't do that," she says.
"Not with you, no," I answer, meeting her pensive gaze.
"How come?"
"I... don't want to scare you, I guess... or make you feel uncomfortable. I just want you to feel good."
She chews and swallows. A chaser from her glass. Milk moustache.
Quietly. "I remember it."
"How do you mean, kitten?"
"In the tub. When I was little. When you got in with me."
She couldn't have been more than three then. I was careful. This was surprising.
"I haven't done that since you were tiny, sweetpea."
"Ya. But I remember. I remember... washing it. I remember how you smiled."
My turn to swallow. Take a drink. I remembered too. Tiny curious hands, slippery splashing. She saves me.
"I liked it." Her cheeks radiate as she drops her eyes.
Her tiny foot at the very start of this path. Toes tentative on the verge. I didn't shove her forward, just stepped out of the way.
"I'm glad that you remember, Sam. And that you liked it."
We don't speak of it further. I go back to work, she to her book. In the afternoon I find her on her tummy on her bed, reading, the perfect arc of her rump just... there. She grins at my gawkage, feeling it without looking up. The book is thick and she's near the end.
"You're plowing right through that, pumpkin. It must be good."
A pause. She chews her lip, then raises her eyes and and surveys the room. Seems confused.
"That's weird," she says. "I hear Daddy's voice, but I don't see him anyplace."