She came the first time with a splendid, stuttering moan that rung in his ears; her pussy muscles grabbed hold of him with enough force to make him gasp, giving him up slowly, reluctantly, while anointing his balls with so much juice that it soon ran down to his asshole. Neal held her waist and felt the tremors rock through her body, experiencing his first genuine “fatherly” sensation in weeks when she slowly fell forward afterward and lay her head against his chest. Below the waist he was encased in burning hot, clinging pussy, the sweetest he’d ever known; above the waist he was holding his dear little girl while she trembled and sighed, as he had done since she dropped her first scoop of ice cream on the sidewalk, or lost her first balloon to the wind.
Still no words of consequence passed between them after Nessa’s shuddering cum — he gathered the covers up around her and lay between her legs, thrusting into her languidly, vaulted up on his hands to keep from crushing her tender belly. Once only did he steal a look at his greasy cock plunging into her cleft; it was too cold to leave his precious girl exposed. She lay spent and sighing while he took the initiative for a long while, though her smiles and glances told him how much she was enjoying it. Yet again he marvelled at the slick tightness of her cunt — even though she had cum and cum hard, she was taut and tense inside, and ready to receive.
It was her idea to get up on her hands and knees and take him from behind, a position that lasted twenty glorious minutes. Neal had always had a thing for doggy-style, loving the opportunity of having a delectable ass at his fingertips, basking in the heavy pussy aroma that wafted up from the girl, enjoying the masterful feelings of pounding away into a raised ass. There was something almost punitive about the position — it brought out his most dominating, dictatorial nature. Not that there was any question of his dominating Nessa; she had clearly been in control from the first moment of their intimacy. But the position did help his self-esteem a bit, and besides, he loved to play with her cheeks and her tiny puckered hole while he plummeted in. Toying with her ass with one wet finger brought on his daughter’s second rocking orgasm as well, so that made him proud.
They finally relaxed into a position very much like where they started — with him lying behind her, lovingly handling her tits. Only now his giant dick was snaked between her legs, thrusting shallowly up into her still grasping cunt. Sometimes he let his hand stray down to her furry slit to rub her, hoping that he could wrench yet a third cum from her and prove his abilities as a lover — but he was kidding himself. His balls had begun their preparatory tingling during her previous orgasm, and now, with her tight opening rubbing directly on his most sensitive spot ( to say nothing of her sighs and moans in his ear, or the smell of her hair in his nostrils) he knew he was fast on his way to the breaking point. When he realized there was no turning back, he let loose his control, grabbing her hip and pounding into her with ferocity and strength. He was slamming into her so hard that his balls were being flattened with every thrust, and he knew he was in for a fearsome ache later. He didn’t care; the pain became part of the pleasure, and he kept up his forceful thrusting, enjoying her heaves and sighs, until he at last drained his balls into her sopping pussy . . .
. . . Twenty minutes later they finally spoke. She was lying back against him, his flaccid cock still nestled in her cunt, something which she appeared to delight in. His hands rested on her belly.
“You okay?” he asked, tentatively. The tone of the question sounded a bit incongruous in his ears, as though she had fallen down the stairs or something. She giggled luxuriously.
“Much better than okay,” she said, snuggling against his chest. “Are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure? You don’t sound it. Are you worried?”
“Well . . . maybe a little bit,” he admitted.
“Scared?”
“Uh huh. Yes.”
“Of what?”
“Um . . . well, I don’t know really. Of what we’ve done, of what it means . . . ”
“Which means, you feel guilty,” she declared.
“I don’t — well . . . not exactly, but yes. I guess so.”
With delicious slowness she pulled her hips forward, dragging herself off of his cock. He sat up suddenly and gripped her waist while she extracted herself. The concoction of his sperm and her juices that had been leaking out her pussy now came pouring down on him, ticking his balls and inner thighs.
She turned to face him, resting her hands on his shoulders. He demured a bit when it came to meeting her eyes, amazed at her easiness and confidence. Incredible to believe, that he had been worried about her ability to face him when she’d witnessed his wanking session. She peered into his eyes now with utter frankness and casual aplomb — as though they’d been fucking for years.
“No guilt, Daddy,” she told him, in a tone that was almost stern.
He shrugged.
“That’s easy to say, honey.”
“I know. But there’s no need for it. Do you trust me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that — do you trust me? Do you believe I wanted this, and that I’m not gonna try to hurt you with it?”
“Well . . . ” He thought hard, forcing himself to meet her searching eyes. She was close, only inches away, and her dark brown eyes were penetrating and severe in the dimness. He remembered suddenly all the looks and gestures and body language of the past few days — all the times that he wondered if she was indeed trying to seduce him. Was it possible after all that all those occurences were genuine, that he had been correct in his conclusions? It certainly seemed that way, incredibly enough.
“I don’t believe you want to hurt me, no,” he said.
“But do you believe that I wanted you? Like this, I mean?”
He smiled, in spite of himself. “It certainly does seem that way.”
“Okay,” she said, grinning herself. “Then no guilt. We both wanted it, so we did it. You know I love you, Daddy.”
“Of course, baby. I love you too, more than anything.”
“I know.” Without warning she leaned in close to him and they were suddenly kissing — warm and tenderly, slowly, not the kiss of casual fuckers but of romantic lovers, intimate partners. It was a kiss with history behind it.
“When did you — I mean, how long have you wanted this?” he had to ask her.
She shrugged, smiling.
“I don’t know. Probably a long time.”
Neal’s head spun. It was a whole new category of culpability to consider, a whole new way in which his little angel daughter was not “pure.” He didn’t know what to make of it: this frank, bald-faced avowal of incestuous desires. She delivered her confession so nonchalantly, as though it were a natural state of affairs, happening to everybody. As though she were completely acclimated to the idea of an incest relationship. He wondered if he had been entertaining such thoughts for a long time, as well — just how long had their “courtship” been going on? It seemed amazing that they could have come so far in just a few days. He remembered, with a mixture of guilt and pleasure, the first occasions when he might have lusted after his daughter. Remembered how, when she couldn’t have been more than fourteen, she used to lie on the floor in front of his chair watching TV, dressed only in boxers and a tee shirt — and how his eyes kept returning to her crotch, waiting (hoping?) for a peek. Remembered when her little boobs started to develop, and how much he had longed for a better look, even a feel. Remembered how her choice of clothes when she started dating — gaudy, tight, revealing — had both appalled and excited him. He even remembered picturing Brad Carlson having sex with her for one fleeting instant in his mind, when she confessed that she was pregnant. Yes, he had to admit it — he’d had loose thoughts about Vanessa for years.
But it wasn’t the same, was it? The odd lustful thought versus an actual plan, meticulously carried out: a verifiable seduction. Of course, he couldn’t claim complete innocence on this head either. He had desperately wanted her to come to his bed tonight, after all, and had even “planned” for it in some ways. Still . . .
“Have you been — did you plan all of this, then?” he asked at last.
She laughed, a little guiltily.
“Plan it?” she said, considering the word. “No, not exactly. I just encouraged it some, I think. Wanted to know what would happen.”
He shook his head in wonder, unsure what to say.
“I don’t know how you can say that, Nessa,” he said. “You just seem . . . so cool about it.”
“I told you — I wanted it,” she said defensively. “And so did you. I knew it, even if you didn’t. Besides, every girl wants to make love to her daddy eventually. It’s natural — like every boy wants his mother sometimes.”
Again her words rocked his brain, challenged his instincts. Incest was natural? Surely it was unnatural if it was anything — it was perverted, wasn’t it? Every boy wants his mother? Oh, Freud had said so, the old degenerate. But his mind recoiled at the suggestion, recalling his own mother’s heavy 68 year old body. Still, there had been times, half-forgotten occasions in his youth, when he had imagined her carnally. Flashes of her younger body he remembered, and curious rootings through her underclothing. He even remembered touching her tit when he was a boy, standing beside her bed while she slept. He’d come in to wake her and found her chest partially exposed, and his fingers acted before his mind could stop them. It was his first feel of a woman . . .