Her Daddy, Her Hero

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Big thanks to KenjiSato for editing this, and as always, all characters in this story are 18+.

Chapter 1: Run

Today was a perfect day for a run. So rarely does the weather in England maintain the balance between too cold and too hot that when it does, everyone makes the most of it. Groups of children would run or cycle through their neighbourhoods, grouping in parties from four to a dozen, all gleefully playing under the sun’s warm haze. Greying men would sit at the lakesides discussing their lives, as they stared into the frustratingly fish-less waters. Their wives would sunbathe in their back gardens back home, sharing their disbelief at how quickly their kids were growing up. For this was summer. Summer in England is not three months long, as the scientists and school teachers say. Summer is the very few days each year, where the outdoors becomes truly alive. Where the population stops complaining about taxes and Brexit, and half-price sales downtown, and Susan who told Val that her hairdresser’s son was going to Cambridge. For these few days, the country stops their inane stream of gossip. They cease their conversational equivalent of a rusty sewage pipe, and take the time to relax. To look up at the sun and smile.

Sofia Marin, however, was not smiling. She, too, was taking full advantage of the delightful weather, but for a young woman, such as herself, going for a run was far more enjoyable than Lidls bbq sausages. She’d always loved a run, but as she was nearing exhaustion, and her face did not conceal this fact. As usual, she had left home and ran down to the end of her street. She would navigate to the canal, which she would follow for around four miles — depending on how far she was willing to push herself — before turning back and going home again.

Now, she stood at a set of traffic lights, panting heavily as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. She had left the canal and had only a few hundred yards left, before she reached home. With one hand on each leg, she dropped her head and waited for the little green man. Her gaze landed on her pink-and-white Nike shoes with shirt-white socks. Although pink wasn’t usually her colour, she did think they looked cute on her, and went well with the rest of her outfit. Her tanned calves were bare, her legs only covered by a pair of shorts claiming only a few inches of territory over her athletic body. Her white T-shirt hugged her figure tightly, presenting her well-sculpted breasts nicely. Her dark brown hair stood in a ponytail, pushed through a pink baseball cap. The outfit was undeniably attractive, not that it made a difference to Sofia, who was no stranger to having guys checking her out in public. She had always been a cute young girl, but puberty had added a sexual layer to her beauty, and while she would never admit to it, she knew, damn well, how good she looked.

The little green man appeared, and Sofia Marin continued home. She lived only with her father now, for she had no siblings and her mother had died some five years ago. She was only thirteen when the tragedy happened. A car accident. Icy roads, No one was really at fault. Though that didn’t make things any better. This was the reason Sofia took up running in the first place, a way to get away from it all. That house felt haunted for months. Corrupted even, as if it were missing a key component in its structure, which, of course, it was. She and her father had slowly recovered from the loss, and while the occasional memory of her smile, her laugh, or her cooking (as it turned out Sofia’s dad just could poach an egg like mum could) brought back their grief, life was, for the most part, happy again. Diego Marin greeted his daughter warmly when she returned, but knew better than to give her a hug, as her sweat-drenched body was far more in need of a shower than anything else.

By the time the young woman had reached her bathroom, Sofia had already removed her shoes and hat, and as she kicked the door shut, she pulled the T-shirt over her head. She didn’t lock the door. No one ever did in her household. It wasn’t a matter of principle, but no one had ever felt the need to. She felt safe there. And her father’s ensuite, meant they never shared a bathroom, so walking in on each other was never an issue. She turned to face the wall-mounted mirror above the sink, as she peeled off her socks, her shorts soon to follow. She was soon completely naked, and she turned on the shower head, allowing it a few seconds to run warm. As she did so, she couldn’t help but examine her exposed body in the reflection.

Of course, she knew looks weren’t everything, and she had never considered herself to be a vain sort of person, but she was proud of her physical attributes. Her full breasts were perfect in shape and large in size, though not large to the point of inconvenience. At the peaks of these breasts, stood two perfectly-placed nipples, each surrounded by large brown areolas. Her abdomen was tight and athletic, with the slight beginnings of a six pack becoming visible when she tightened Kıbrıs Escort her core. Her completion was a perfect blend of her mother’s British paleness and her father’s darker skin. Diego was Spanish, making Sofia Hispanic, rather than Latina, although this was a fact often overlooked by the people around her, and she had no reason to correct them. Besides, she thought, Latina suited her more. She couldn’t really explain it, but something in the pronunciation meant that the word Latina, held a better image in her head than Hispanic. Perhaps, it was the near rhyme to her own name, but something gave the word Latina, a powerful yet very feminine vibe, one that the word Hispanic didn’t share.

She stepped into the shower, allowing water to cascade down on her tired body, flowing through her silky long hair that stuck to her shoulders. Water flowed down her back over the curve of her round ass and down her long legs. She felt the relaxation engulf her, and stood like that for many seconds, before beginning to wash her body more purposefully. She scrubbed her body, making up for the shower she had skipped earlier that morning. Her hands sculpted over her admirable figure from top to bottom, lingering slightly as they reached her groin. One hand rested over her navel, whilst the the other gently stroked the neatly-trimmed bush that lay before her sex. The fingertips danced on that wet patch of hair, before lowering slightly further, teasing the top of her genitalia. She casually played with the familiar folds, very delicately pressing against her rapidly-awakening clitoris, as she approached her opening. Her middle finger became in line with it, and she sank the digit inside herself, half an inch. Her eyes opened as she snapped back to reality, breaking the trance of her unprompted arousal. She finished up in the shower and stepped out, wrapping herself in a towel, picking up her heap of clothes and making her way to her bedroom.


Sofia laid above the covers, for tonight was too hot to hide under a duvet or blanket. A fan sat across the room from her, its quiet-but-powerful breeze fighting the otherwise clammy atmosphere of the night. The young Latina wore only a T-shirt, though one baggy enough to provide her with modesty if she stood. Right then, however, no such modesty was present, as the shirt ended halfway up her torso, scrunched up to give her better access to her body. With her eyes closed, and music on, any distractions were ignored or drowned out, allowing the young Latina to lose herself in her masturbation. Her left hand worked her most intimate area, rubbing and caressing her clitoris, while her right was shoved beneath the shirt, cupping one of her bountiful breasts and playing with the erect nipple that stood there.

Her father had long since gone to bed, and her fan was loud enough to obscure her laboured breaths, so Sofia felt no fear of being caught, as she plunged a finger into herself. She pleasured herself gently at first, thinking of nothing in particular, simply enjoying the moment. She withdrew her finger and placed it in her mouth, the sweet taste of her juices overwhelming her with lust. This time, two fingers buried themselves in the young woman’s sex, diving in and out more vigorous than before, as the thumb of her other hand began to massage her engorged clitoris. She touched herself passionately, stretching her body as she lost herself in pleasure. She gyrated her hips as her middle and ring fingers continued to thrust inside her, her other hand instinctively grabbing her mouth to prevent the otherwise inevitable moan.

Her legs stretched straight, as she pushed herself over the edge. She squirmed in ecstasy as her body pulsed rapidly and sporadically. Her mind exploded with delight as the orgasm rippled through it.

She laid there for a while, basking in the afterglow of her masturbation. Eventually, she pulled the T-shirt back down over her sweat-covered body and climbed out of bed. Still listening to music, and clutching her phone in her left hand, Sofia went downstairs to rehydrate. The house was dark, not so dark that she couldn’t see, but dark enough to bring the shadows to life; dark enough to inspire paranoia in the beautiful Latina, as she navigated to the kitchen. That tiny, unfounded anxiety crept into her mind, a parasite powerful enough to infect her eyes. The home she knew well, somehow seemed alien, normal objects became vessels of evil when corrupted by the darkness.

She wanted to turn on the lights, to extinguish her fears in one moment, banish the demons back to the depths of her imagination. She fought against this urge, though, not wanting to wake up her eyes, that had become accustomed to the darkness. Besides, she thought to herself, I’m being ridiculous, there’s no one here. I’m safe. Nothing to fear, and nothing out of the ordinary.

And she very nearly believed it.

“Shit,” Jay said under his breath, as he stared at his mistake.

“You fucking idiot. Look what you’ve fucking done, Lefkoşa Escort you fucking idiot,” his accomplice whispered. Dave’s blood pulsed with rage. Why the fuck had he trusted Jay not to fuck it up? Why did he even bring him? HE had picked the lock. HE had chosen the house. Jay had done nothing. And now he’d dropped the fucking TV. Fuck.

“Help me pick it up, it’s probably not broken,” Jay pleaded to his friend.

“You’re even more stupid than I thought,” Dave spat. “You think the fuckers who live here won’t have woken up? Fuck, the whole fucking neighbourhood heard that. We’ve got to get the fuck out o–“

The look on Jay’s face told him it was too late. Dave turned around slowly, and saw the face of a young woman standing in the doorway. He was afraid, not of the woman herself, but of the mobile phone in her left hand. He had pulled up his balaclava to better give Jay a scolding, and then realised he was the stupid one. He couldn’t let her call the police. He just couldn’t.

“Give that to me,” Dave demanded slowly, as he took out a pocket knife, “and no one has to get hurt.”

“She’s just a kid–“

“Shut the fuck up.” As far as Dave was concerned, Jay didn’t have the right to speak right then, let alone make decisions.

Sofia had never known true fear. True joy was familiar to her, true sadness had made its introduction when she was thirteen. But fear, that raw, primal fear only experienced when your life is truly in danger, was new to her. She had been frightened on her way to the kitchen, and even more so, when she heard the loud crash coming from the lounge. But this was far worse than that. A guttural feeling. A paralysing feeling. In a single moment, her entire body prepared itself. For what? Fight? Run away? A billion possibilities swarmed her mind faster than she could consciously understand. Time slowed down, or rather, her mind sped up. Two men stood before her. The closer one bore a threatening glare, accompanied by the beginnings of what her mind thought to be a sadistic grin. The other appeared frightened, nearly as much as her.

“Give me the phone, bitch,” the man repeated, as he advanced on her.

She gave in, or at least she thought she did. She meant to hand him the phone. She ordered herself to give in, told herself they would go in peace if she did what they asked. But her body defied her, and she did something she immediately regretted. She ran. Sofia was halfway up the stairs, before the intruder caught up with her. Ruthlessly, he tackled the young woman to the ground, her face slamming against the banister on its way down. He turned her body over, climbing on top of her, the adrenaline and alcohol running through his veins preventing any rational thought, as he grabbed her face to hold it still. “You stupid bitch.”

“Dave, let’s just take her phone and go.”

The man on top of her stopped for a moment. “Did you just say my name. You flicking cunt.”

Jay, too, felt that paralysing fear.

“Now I have to kill this bitch.”

“No– No, please, I jus–“

“Shut up!” he snarled, his primal instincts and violent nature taking over. “Or I’ll fucking kill you, too.”

He had dropped his knife in the scramble, but in is his rage-fuelled state, saw no trouble in bashing her face in with his fists. He raised his left hand, clenched it tight and brought it down. Sofia screamed in pain and fear, blood beginning to pour from her nose, as her vision blurred with tears. He raised another hand and brought it down fast. Her head snapped left after the impact, her face quickly covered with blood. Another fist was raised and it was this third blow that rendered Sofia unconscious.

Voices. Several. Gentle. A man, talking to, Dad? Lights. Bright ones. Hurts. Everything hurts.

“But she’ll be all right?”

“Yes, Mr. Marin. Her injuries are only surface level, a lot less severe than yours, which is why you should go back to your bed.”

“How long will she take to recover?

“Mr. Marin, I assure you, she will be fine– Mr. Marin you need to sit down.”


“Your leg, it’s bleeding again.”

Chapter two: Rest

Sofia’s phone buzzed once more with a message from a friend. Whether one of fear for her health, sympathy for her experience, or curiosity of her story, she’d heard them all before. The events of that night were all over the local news. Reporters couldn’t get enough of the everyday man who had fought off two criminals. Her father had explained that the situation wasn’t as glamorous as the news had made it seem, but when you’re offered eight hundred fifty pounds for an interview, you embellish the details a little.

Diego had been woken by the television being dropped, and had come downstairs to see what had to be the worst thing he had ever seen. His own daughter, the person he loved most in the world, being attacked by some savage in his own home. The newspapers said that what occurred between the two of them was a fight, but really it was more of a beating. Girne Escort Dave could do nothing against Diego’s paternal wrath, taking hit after hit after hit. This could’ve gone on all night, but Jay had picked up the knife. What the newspapers had described as a master criminal, was actually a young man, terrified to the bone, lashing out in fear. He had swiped at Diego with the knife, cutting open his right leg, before he, too, was tackled to the ground. The police report concluded that the criminals were both drunk and violent. That Dave was a previous offender and that Diego acted only in self defence.

Sofia was told her face would take weeks to heal, though the swelling had already cleared up and her natural beauty was all but restored. She was also told she would have no lasting scars, but upon coming home from hospital, she was faced with a scar far worse than anything physical. Home didn’t feel like home anymore, just like when her mother had died. As for her father, his leg wound was more severe, and he would most likely be in crutches for a month or two. The more Sofia concentrated, the more she began to remember from that night. Images of her father protecting her, blurred but real, pressed into her brain. Her dad truly was a hero. He had saved her life.

The first night after they had come home was the worst for her. She couldn’t shake the memories. Couldn’t forget what had happened and couldn’t stop imagining it happening again. She felt that same terror, that helplessness. And couldn’t rid herself of it. Naturally, she went to her father for help. Her hero. Only a few seconds after knocking on the door, a faint ‘come in’ emerged from within the bedroom.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” Diego asked, from under his bedsheets.

“I– I can’t sleep.”

“Is this because of…” his masculine yet nurturing voice, trailed off.

In response, Sofia crossed the room, mounted the bed and embraced her father in a warm hug, burying her face in his collarbone as she held back tears.

That night, Sofia slept in that bed, for it was at that time the only place that felt safe. When the sun rose, and its blinding beams of light peeked around the edges of the shut curtains, it was the daughter who was first to wake. She was above the covers and he was below. The blanket above him had slid down in the night, so that half of his chest was visible. A muscular chest, dark curls of hair sprouting from it. Her eyes scanned over his body, and landed on an upstanding point under the covers. She covered her mouth from laughing, as she realised her dad had morning wood.

However, she quickly found that the humour of the situation was gone, replaced with something she didn’t quite understand, and certainly didn’t accept — desire. ‘Stop it,’ she told herself. She assumed it was just pent-up sexual frustration, she hadn’t masturbated since that night. She laid there in the bed, systems slowly starting up and she awoke properly. Barely noticing her own movements, her hand reached to her crotch, moving up under the T-shirt and feeling what laid beneath. A shiver ran down her spine as she realised she was doing this next to her father, and she immediately drew her hand away. She then noticed her hand was wet. She then noticed she was wet. Shame ran through her as she realised her own dad had turned her on. This shame was short-lived. ‘Why should I be ashamed?’ she thought. ‘We’re both adults. No one’s getting hurt. There’s no problem with it.’ As she convinced herself, her hand once again moved to that special place between her legs.

She found herself wondering if he was naked under that sheet. That would explain why he took so long to go downstairs that night; he had had to get dressed. And why he had stayed under the covers when she came in, despite the heat. As she continued to casually finger herself, she admired the magnitude of the morning wood she had found funny just a minute earlier. It was huge. Bigger than any other she’d seen, in real life at least. She wanted a closer look. She needed to see it. Her hand reached to the top of the blanket, but just as it did, Diego stirred. Within a few seconds, he was awake, by which time her hand had been taken away from its inappropriate activity.

“Morning,” she said, pretending not to have noticed his still-present boner.

“Morning… Can you leave so I can get dressed?” he asked with a sleepy smile, and Sofia left the bedroom, now formulating a plan to get closer to her Dad.

Sofia stood outside the shower, looking at herself in the mirror, as the water ran warm. She examined her scars, small but noticeable. A few cuts over her left eye. One larger wound on her left cheek. Imperfections to an otherwise flawless face. She moved her gaze lower, trying to move the memories away from her mind. Her eyes and hands moved to her breasts. She swiped aside the few locks of brown hair that laid gently upon, and noted in pride their full shape and smooth texture. How could daddy resist these? She could convince him his was right, she knew it. She just needed time — a hand reached down to her pubis. She couldn’t just spring the idea on him — fingers traced the folds of her vagina. She needed to ease him into it — two fingers entered her. With her other hand, she squeezed her breasts, imagining the hand belonged to her father.

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