The Scent of Jasmine: Electra Rises

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Jasmine flicked of the radio, silencing the relentless, ancient Christmas pop songs. She rolled back into bed and closed her eyes. God, she thought, those songs must have been dated when Tim was her age.

Her age. She’d seen photos of Tim when he was younger. Handsome, slim, dark hair. Still, she preferred how he looked now. Still in good shape, broader in the shoulders, the grey flecks in his temple adding to his authoritative demeanour.

Thinking about him, she found herself outlining her breasts with her fingertips. Her mind recalled the first time, four months ago, when they had shared a bed in Barcelona. Close together, his breath on her neck, strong body behind her. The next day, his rough hands smoothing cream into her back. Their first dance … her hand now tracing the gentle curve of her stomach… their first kiss… that pained, slow first kiss. Oh god, that kiss… and where it lead … the slow build up of that weekend… now building up again in a cold English winter, like the heat of Barcelona itself.

Her eyes closed. Her feet slowly pulled the sheets down, expensive cotton dragging over her breasts, tripping over hardening nipples, reminding her of the first time he took them in his mouth, gently pulling on them. She gasped as the memory flooded her. One hand, almost independent of thought, gently stroked her breasts, fingertips slowly, gently rolling her nipples. Her other hand deliberately smoothing over her mound, the inside of her thighs. Her hips rose as she removed her thong. She moved a finger up her lips and let her fingernail trace back down again, revelling in the electric tingle.

As it rose again, it fell between her lips, accompanied by another finger, gently slipping around her clitoris. Her other hand moved to her mouth, stroking those lips, sucking on a finger as she did that night with Tim. Her lower hand squeezed gently … the slight, delicious pain … him entering her for the first time…

Then footsteps. Harsh footsteps, outside.

Jasmine pulled the sheet up and rolled to her side as the door knob turned. Shoma, her mother, entered and started talking.

“Jasmine, up. I heard your alarm go off twenty minutes ago.”

Jasmine rolled back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling in silence. Blocking it all out.

“I have things to do. And, and you left your washing in the machine again last night. It’s in a bag on the side. I need to do washing as well you know.”

Back to reality.

“Well, when it’s finished make sure you sort my stuff out before yours. I have a lunch date. I’ll be back after that. And you’re back tomorrow at twelve, yes?”

“Yes, mum.” Jasmine winced at the childish tone of her answer.

“Well, make sure it’s twelve. No later.” Her harshness towards her father hurt more than the condescending tone.

“Yes. Mum”.

“I’m just surprised Tim can find the time for you.” With that she walked out, pulling the door just hard enough to avoid slamming it.

Since starting university, holidays had become a chore.

Jasmine rolled her delicate neck, stretching the stress away. More relaxed now, she felt the faint traces of the earlier ecstasy that had throbbed through her body.

It was true. Tim, her father, was coming over soon.

She threw back the covers and planted her feet. The last few months had been wonderful. She could feel his touch and love even when he wasn’t there. It had been easy to keep the secret. No one suspected anything. But, she felt the strain was showing on her father. At first, the time he took off work was just to be with her, after lectures, on quiet days. But recently, he hadn’t been at work or home.

She would have to do something special to remind him of who he was. Who he was meant to be. But what?

She strolled over to her chair and pulled on her dressing gown. She opened the door and headed to the shower.

She had to do something. She was a smart girl. She would come up with some way to re-invigorate her father. She just needed to tap into the generic male fantasy… a fantasy even he would share with those stupid boys and young men her mother was seeing. A mother oblivious to the way they looked at her.

She walked to the bathroom, pulled the cord and waited for the shower to heat up. A practiced, cautious part of her mind sparked up. She knew what she was doing was, on many levels, seen by many people, wrong. But she saw through that. Actually, circumstances saw to that. Circumstances beyond her control.

She had read about Egyptians, about the Bible. About Lot and his daughters. If God had condoned it…well.

No, that was the Catholic guilt talking. That nonsensical, contradictory theory of what was right, what was wrong. Some big ghost in the sky. Some Heavenly … Father …

She stepped into the shower cubicle, young body accepting the warm watery embrace with pleasure.

The shower… Barcelona … still sore after that night, tied to the bed …

The warm water seemed to flow through her, feeding the faint, lingering traces of ataşehir escort bayan desire.

His large body behind her. His erection, the proof of his love and desire for her pressing against her back.

She allowed herself to finish.


Tony Brennan stared at the computer screen. The last four months had been difficult, and it had been down to one man. Tim. His shining star, the man he had moulded to take over in a few years when he retired. The man around whom he’d created his entire team.

What was it? Death, divorce and moving? Well, Tim was going through the last two of those, but he looked like he was approaching the first as well.

HR had informed him that Tim was dangerously close to hearing from them in an official capacity, and Tony had told them to go fuck themselves. Literally. He told the CEO the same, figuratively. Fortunately the CEO saw matters the same way as Tony. For now.

Ten past nine. Tony looked at the phone. Any moment now. Any moment Tim would ring. Tony wondered how much longer he could cover for him.


Jasmine looked around her bedroom. She needed something special today. There were things she’d promised Tim that hadn’t happened yet. And God, she wanted them to. But, he had insisted on being careful.

She walked to the master bedroom. The room where, until four months ago, Tim slept with the bitch. The room where any number of leering men had slept since. How could her mother not see how they looked at her. How many of them thought of her while in her bed, fucking the tired old whore. She sat on the bed, and pushed those thoughts from her mind. She was going to take this part of the house back, for her and her father.

She imagined him sitting there, watching her enter. She wondered what he would see, what would re-invigorate him. Give him back the power he should have. Then power her father deserved over his girl…

An idea came to her. She smiled.


The gravel drive crunched out its announcement. She looked out the window of the master bedroom and saw Tim’s second-hand BMW 3 series pull up. He had downgraded since the divorce. Another legacy of the bitch.

She pulled her dressing gown over her clothes and went to the door. A cold winter breeze blowing in.

She opened it before he had even exited the car, beaming at him.

“Hi hun!” He shut the car door and ran over to her. They hugged, happily, innocently.

“You’re not dressed? I thought we were heading out to lunch?”

She moved back, smiling with a practiced coyness. “I have something for you.”

Tim’s eyes flicked up to his old bedroom.

“Hey, if it’s about that, you know how I feel.”

“There’s a letter for you up there.”

Tim knew he was being played. She was getting good at that. Not that he had any complaints. Maybe he should give her what she wanted.

“Hurry up, dad!” She said, running up the stair way to her room.

He headed up the stairs. Why did she go to her room? Should he follow?

No. She had said there was a letter in the master. So, he went there.

It felt strange walking back into his old room. Subtle changes, all evidence of him removed. New bed spread. He stroked the covers, expensive. His old bed.

A whisky waited on the bedside table.


Jasmine removed her dressing gown, pulled on her high white socks and fastened her shoes. She looked at herself in the mirror and straightened her tie.


The letter was on the bedside table, resting next to a tumbler of scotch. He took a sip and sat on the bed. He opened the letter.

“Dear Sir

Jasmine has been naughty in school … “

His heart pounded. He noticed the printed letter had a familiar crest on it, but a poor copy, as if copied from a website. He struggled to read it entirely, his eyes skipping over words

“…showing her knickers to boys, and girls … has been caught kissing boys and girls … behind school … dressing inappropriately at school …

We have sent her home for you to deal with her, however you see fit…

We think a spanking is in order …”

The door opened. Jasmine walked in, head down, hands held in front.

Tim was breathless. His eyes drank her in. The shiny patent shoes, the long, white socks, stopping just above the knee, giving way to smooth brown legs showing beneath that little pleated skirt.

Her white shirt was tied at her midriff, revealing her smooth stomach. Sleek dark hair held back by a pale blue Alice band. She looked up at him with her big, dark eyes..

“Hi, daddy?”

Tim let out a big breath… calming himself. No thoughts of caution now.

“Come here, Jasmine.” He watched her hips sway as she approached.

“What is it, daddy?”

“I think you know what.” He stood up and let the letter fall to the floor.

“Oh, that.” She said.

He turned and another sip of whisky. “Is it all true, Jasmine?”

He heard her voice behind him, “I’m afraid so. escort kadıöy I can’t help myself. I just like being naughty.”

“Jasmine. Put your hands on the bed.”

“Yes, daddy.”

His adjusted his trousers, no longer accommodating the sudden growth. He turned to look at her. Legs apart, her short skirt barely covering her backside, showing more of her firm, youthful thighs.

Jasmine looked over her shoulders at him.

“I’m ready, daddy.”

Tim stepped over to her. Ever since that night in Barcelona, their last night in that hotel, when he’d had tied her hands to the bed, she had found new ways to play. What had she said? “Do something dirty to me, daddy …”

His hands traced up her thighs, lifting her skirt, resting it over her back. His hands smoothed over her plain, white underwear, over her taut buttocks. He gently squeezed, hearing her gently moan.

He pulled his hand back slowly. Fingers lingering over that perfect backside.

He slapped her.

Jasmine gave a small yelp. Her body shivering as the stinging gave way to a surge of stimulation through her pelvis, echoing in her belly. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide with a reckless fire, mouth open in breathless pout. Her body writhed, then she settled, head down again.

He brought his hand to her twice more, in rapid succession. The first was met with a gasp, the second with a longer, louder, undulating moan. Her left heel rose like a release valve.

Both of his hands massaged her thighs, thumbs under her white knickers.

“I think it is time we went bare…”

His voice alone elicited another moan from her.

“Yes, daddy.”

A flash of guilt spiked in him. As if she knew, she turned to look at him again, gazing at him, biting her lower lip. The look in her eyes hushed his nagging inner voice and she arched her back, presenting those smooth brown orbs to him.

His thumbs reached under the thin white material, pinching her panties and gently pulling them down, watching the material slide down. A theatre curtain, revealing the main show. Every time was like the first time. A never ending, novel and thrilling spectacle.

He knelt down and moved his hands as slowly as lust would allow, resisting the urge to bite her.

Down they came, now past the crease of her arse, revealing her mound.

Jasmine felt the cool air on her warmed buttocks, a fresh tingling feeling. She felt his hands drag her underwear down further. She could hear his breathing, coarse, almost aggressive.

They slipped down past the tops of her socks. She could feel his breath on her, gently flowing over her pussy. She pushed her face into the pillow, enjoying her exposure, feeling the strength flowing back in her father. Strength that would soon be flowing into her.

She stepped out of her panties as they reached the floor, sensed him standing up again behind her.

“This is for kissing girls.” Tim said, sensing an authority in his voice he thought he had lost.

His hand landed three times, and each time her body quivered and Jasmine produced the most exquisite sounds. Tim stroked his daughters arse, as he wondered what to say. His hand drifted up her inner thigh until his forefinger rested under her lips. They were moist and he slowly rubbed his hand back and forth.

“Oh, you liked that did you? You’re wet already.”

Jasmine gently rocked her hips on his hand, her heart shaped behind hypnotising him.

“What you going to do, daddy?”

Tim reached forward and grabbed her hair. He pulled her up and held her close to him, Jasmine giving a breathy laugh as he did.

He bought his face to hers, running his free hand over her blouse to her stomach, noticing her lack of bra. “I think I need to check … make sure you are looking after yourself.”

His hand found its way under her. He cupped her pussy in his hand, his middle fingers caressing between the lips.

She reached back, grabbing her father’s trousers, grinding herself against his erection as he expertly masturbated her, just like she’d shown him.

“Have you … have you been keeping yourself fresh?” Tim said.

She weakened at the timbre of his voice. He was back, the master of the house. The master of her life. Her father.

“Yes, daddy. Always.”

He withdrew his hand. “Are you sure?”

She nodded as best she could against the grip he had of her hair.

“Show me.” He said.

Tim brought his hands to her face, his fingers to her lips. Her tongue flickered, accepting his digits into her mouth. Tasting the sweet, musky juices he had brought forth from her.

“Good girl.” He said. “But maybe I should check for myself.”

Tim let go of Jasmine’s hair and slid his fingers from her mouth, lingering for a moment on her lips before undoing her tie. Her hands obediently went behind her back, and Tim bound them together.

Tim pulled her against him, hands on her those perfect, pert breasts. He turned her around. Her hair fell over one eye and a devilish smile lit up maltepe escort her face as she looked up at him.

He moved her backwards and pushed her to the bed. She squealed as she fell, laughing as she landed.

Tim knelt before her. He grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed, her skirt riding up as he did.

For a moment, his mind searched for the last time he saw her in her school uniform. He banished the answer as soon as it came. An uneasy feeling lingered. These games were getting too much.

But just, just this once …

He has felt the patterned fabric of her socks… the sweetness and innocence of them gave life back to the lustful animal in him. He gripped her knees, parting her thighs slowly, exposing the smooth shaved mound and those dark, dewy lips.

“Time for me to check.” His mouth drew to her pussy, as his mind raced. He had nearly said ‘time for daddy to check’ but found he couldn’t. Bury it down, Tim. Not now.

He drowned the voices in his head with her fragrance. He closed his eyes, leaning forward to kiss her. Her response drew him in. His hands cupped her backside, drawing her closer, absorbing her beauty. His tongue working into her warm tight cavern.

“Yes, daddy,” she purred. “Have I been good?”

He ignored her, his tongue circling her clitoris.

“Oh, daddy …” a dark, submissive tone in her voice

She needed to stop saying that. This was wrong, he knew it. He needed to silence her.

He stood up. He wanted to stop, but her allure was too much. Tied, presented as an innocent, there for him, for his pleasure.

“So…” he stumbled for words. “So, kissing girls, huh?”

She smiled. “Only sometimes, daddy.”

“Well, I am going to have to do something about that. Show you what you should be doing”

He grabbed her by the arm and her hair, controlling her, moving her to the floor.

“Yes, daddy,” kneeling, staring up at him. “Whatever you say, daddy.”

He undid his trousers, knowing how to silence her for a while.

She started to speak again, but he drew her mouth onto him, deep on to him. Her tongue pressed against him. He couldn’t shake the fact that this was his daughter from his mind. But, this time it invigorated him. He started to move her head back and forth, riveted by both thought and act of his own daughter accepting him into her mouth. He looked down, watching her give herself to him, and moved her harder.

Jasmine tried to look up at him, enjoying being the object of such intense desire. The slight choking pain confirming his love as his cock inundated her. He was a man, a real man. He took what he wanted, and he wanted her.

Breathless, and tears on her face, she gasped for air as he stopped.

“You’re going to be a little whore? Are you?”

She couldn’t answer, and he didn’t wait.

“Then you can be a little whore for daddy.” He picked her up and threw her on the bed.

Jasmine landed on her back, a feral look on her face. Tim stripped, breaking a button off from his shirt as he did. He clambered between her open thighs. He stroked himself, looking down at her. Her petite frame, the glowing beauty of her mocha skin. The perfect proportions of her hips. Her willingness to make him happy.

He undid her blouse. Spreading it open and releasing her breasts.

Jasmine felt his hands over her ribs, taking her breasts. Feeling his strength as he kneaded them, gasping in that precious periphery between pleasure and pain as he pulled on her nipples.

“You want it, Jasmine?” Tim growled. “You want to be a whore for daddy?”

“Yeah. For you daddy… fuck me, daddy.”

Tim lifted her hips, pulling the lips of her pussy to his dick, enjoying that warm embrace. He braced his back and drew her forcefully onto him.

Jasmine’s head turned to the side, eyes screwed shut, a curt gasp as he did. Tim looked at her, savouring the gift of her surrender, of her body. He waited a moment, letting it fill him.

Jasmine relaxed, started breathing again. Luxuriating in the way he filled her. She could feel him throbbing in her. She could feel his tight grip as she lay helpless underneath his broad shoulders.

He began, slowly, as if compensating for his brusque entrance. Jasmine closed her eyes as her father’s cock swelled in her. Waves of pleasure flowed through her with each thrust. As each wave subsided, the next met it, growing and building upon the last. She watched him fuck her. His face tense with concentration. With desire. Desire for her.

Of all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing this, they had overcome them. She had him. She had her father fucking her, in her mother’s bed. No, in his bed.

These thoughts fed into her, whipping the waves into a storm that engulfed her. Pulsing, all-consuming ecstasy.

He dropped her to the bed. She was incandescent after an orgasm. A moaning, writhing sliver of bliss. He started moving again, pleasant little aftershocks shuddering through her.

“Daddy? Daddy, did you come?” She murmured.

“Not yet, baby… not yet.”

“Don’t daddy, don’t come in me…”

Tim stopped, momentarily perplexed. What was she wanting?

“I don’t want to get pregnant, daddy.”

“You forgot your …?”

Jasmine rolled onto her front her skirt still high.

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