Harry and Toi – Toi 2

Harry and Toi

Toi

* * *

First morning at Sea. Three more days and Toi would see her dad again.

As she lay in bed, still sleepy from the night, she pondered her dreams of late, marveling at them.

Toiliúil had only been alive for three months, yet she had again dreamed of a childhood she never had. This one had been of her first time. She had been thirteen, her boyfriend the same. It had been awkward and not that good, but she had loved it anyway.

In the dream, Toi had lost her virginity in a barn on a world with four crops per growing season. The sky had been yellow, the sun pale blue. She was sure she could locate that world and badly wanted to. Toi was convinced that this dream, like others she’d had, was a memory of something that had actually happened.

Maybe she had lived before, and these were past lives. Nothing she could do now, of course. Time enough when she was back at work.

The night before last, she had dreamed of her mother, her real mother. Though she had never known the woman and didn’t even know what her name had been, she missed her. Maybe that was why she had entered Toi’s dream.

At fourteen, her mother had been more child than woman when she became pregnant, gave birth, and died in the space of three days.

From her father, who had been her extremely unwilling sex partner for weeks, had given her a fair description. Dark skinned and slender, her mother’s hair had been black and long; her eyes a pale brown, flecked with gold.

In the dream, her mother was wearing a white sarong and a colourful headscarf. She was sitting on a balcony in shade overlooking a great river in sunlight. The woman was crying and saying over and over, “I’m sorry, Toi. I’m so sorry.” Toiliúil did not comfort her mother in the dream, could not make herself move, in fact.

She had woken the morning before weeping and hoping she never had that dream again.

Thinking of it now made her sad.

Toi didn’t need to get up and didn’t want to start her day depressed. Unbidden came a third dream, this one definitely of her own life.

* * *

Toiliúil hadn’t even thought of a name for herself, yet. She was only a handful of days old and the Fyre burned hot within her. In a temple on Oerth, she waited for her father. Once before they had met, only moments after her birth. That first sight of him had created a bond of adamant that was shaping her in ways she did not understand.

That day in the temple, she was hungry for his presence and finally she could feel him. He was just outside. She made the dragons come that the storm they caused might drive him in, to her.

For the few days of her existence, she had grown and continued to grow fast enough that she could feel it. That day, at that moment, while the winds howled and her anticipation of their reunion blossomed, her body hit puberty.

A gasp ripped from her as she felt the surge of pleasure from her vulva. Without thought, her hands darted to her crotch. In seconds, her first orgasm exploded through her being. It happened just she caught her first sight of Harry stumbling into the temple.

The two events became one in her mind.

* * *

That memory, that dream had led Toiliúil to her first orgasm since the end of that terrible attempt to revive the Templars in the Evanescents.

Her first night in Azhure’en she had pleasured herself, thinking of Harry Tranker, her father, at that second meeting.

The next day, she had sat with Harry as he regaled all with his account of the entire affair or, as he called it, The Case of the Silvergrey Sea. Love had her then.

His whiskey voice, sardonic tone, and wit had delighted her. Pride to be his child, and a desire she hadn’t lived long enough to consider wrong, flooded her soul.

As soon as that gathering was over, she had retreated to the room the Hermetists had set aside for her and masturbated again to thoughts of him. And again. And again, until sleep claimed her.

Now, as then, lust overtook her.

She began it subtly, stretching and clenching her thighs and the muscles in her abdomen. First one, then both hands wandered to her breasts, squeezing the sensitive flesh that capped them.

“Daddy,” she sighed, imagining his mouth closing over hers as his hands, not hers, tweaked her nipples.

The tingling in her crotch drew one of her hands as a fly to honey. It was her father’s mouth sucking her tit, now nibbling it gently with his teeth. Her fingers, featherlight, traced her inner labia as, in her mind, her father’s fingers did.

“Daddy, oh Daddy please. I need your tongue. I need it down there. Please, Daddy. Please lick my pussy.”

In her fantasy, her father eagerly obliged. Toi spread her legs in anticipation. Her father’s rough tongue lapped at the whole of her vulva, as her moistened fingers did the same. The first cry of pleasure came from her, then.

A finger penetrated her widening pussy, as his tongue gently tortured her clitoris. His finger, not hers, pushed up against the spongy mound of her g-spot and his tongue, not her fingers, flicked over her hooded clit faster and faster.

Soon, she could take no more. Two, three, four fingers penetrated her cunt. It was her father’s stiff cock, really, his lust having finally mastered him. Using her free hand to increase the force of the one fucking her, she slammed the heel of her hand onto her clit as her fingers pumped her mercilessly. No, it was he, Harry Tranker, her Daddy, who fucked her virgin snatch. She could feel his pubic bone punish her clitoris with each full thrust just as his cock slammed against her cervix over and over.

His eyes, grey like hers and glassy with lust, never left her face as he hovered inches above her, chanting, “I love you, Toi. I love you, baby girl. You are mine, mine forever.”

He ejaculated deep into her womb as that sweet, sweet sensation overwhelmed her. Time went away for a while.

* * *

Cold with her own sweat, Toiliúil came back to herself some time later. Never would she get used to her orgasms; at least she hoped not.

She licked her sticky fingers, tasting the dregs of her pleasure and whispered, “Daddy.”

Smiling, she got up to start her day. She couldn’t wait to see him again.

—Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, November 2026

© Gideon Jagged
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