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Obsession
by Your Ghost (address withheld)

***

Fifteen year old Jane, not only discovers her father's 
secret fetish, but her own. (M/f-teen, ped, inc, reluc, 
mast, oral)

***

By the time I was ten years old I'd already grown 
breasts. Not huge ones, but they were there, alright, 
two small rounded lumps poking out from my chest like 
little baseballs with nipples. 

Naturally, I was horrified; not only would every guy in 
the world start staring at me and whistling at me and 
even grabbing at me (I'd seen more than one girl with 
newly budding breasts get involuntarily groped in the 
school hallways), but all the other kids would think I 
was stuffing my bra. I didn't even have a bra. And I 
didn't want one; bras, even training bras, meant you 
were growing up, 'becoming a woman.' I wanted to stay a 
little kid. Unfortunately, I didn't have any choice in 
the matter. My tits were here to stay.

I tried to hide them at first. Walking all slouched and 
hunched over, my arms crossed in front of my chest, or 
holding books in front of them. Wearing baggy 
sweatshirts, loose blouses, coats, even in warm 
weather. Those were effective tactics, but I couldn't 
do them all the time, and eventually someone noticed. 
Of course, it was at school, and it was a guy, Timmy 
Blanch, who pointed and laughed and yelled out to the 
rest of the class that I was stuffing my bra. Total 
humiliation. 

Then, after school, a group of five boys, led by Timmy, 
ambushed me on the way home, in the alley behind my 
house. They forced me behind a dumpster, held me down, 
and pulled my shirt up so they could all get a look at 
my chest. Each of them fondled me in turn, then, for 
good measure I suppose, pulled my pants down to get a 
look at my hairless pussy. 

A few of them touched me down there, and Timmy stuck 
his finger in me, but even so none of them seemed 
nearly as impressed with my pussy as they had been with 
my breasts. And my mom picked that very same day to 
say, "Looks like somebody's developing early," while 
pointing her long manicured and polished finger at 
them. With Dad right in the room.

That was another problem: Dad. He noticed, too. He 
never said anything, but I was almost always catching 
him looking at my chest. Staring at me like I was some 
kind of freak. Which I was; ten years old and already 
needing an A cup.

I got used to it though. What else could I do? Throw a 
fit every time I noticed Dad noticing me? That would 
have been exhausting, at least, and besides, part of me 
appreciated the attention. After all, he was my daddy, 
and he obviously thought me worth staring at. It was 
flattering, in a way, or at least that's how I came to 
look at it. By the time I was twelve, and my breasts 
had gotten even bigger, I rarely even thought about it, 
and when I did I thought about it in terms of my 
attractiveness instead of the freak factor. 

I'd started to develop in other ways too, my hips 
getting a little more womanly, my butt filling out 
(although, thank God, not getting big), and a 
smattering of hair cropping up between my legs. I 
started to like (or at least accept) the idea that I 
was becoming a woman, and Dad's visual scans of my body 
were like wordless inspections, examinations of my 
progress. 

I even started dressing for his benefit, wearing things 
that I thought he would like, such as tight t-shirts 
and tank-tops, halters and bikini tops. Sometimes my 
mom would caution me about that, saying that it wasn't 
proper to be flaunting my body, but she was only 
worried about boys; she seemed completely unaware of 
Dad's interest in me.

Not that Mom was wrong to worry about boys; like Dad, 
they stared the hell out of me everywhere I went, and 
they seemed to think it was okay to make passes at me 
whenever they felt like it. A month rarely went by 
without some guy groping me or grabbing me. 

Boys in school, boys from the high school, guys at the 
bus stop, the mall, the market. Guys my age, guys older 
than me, guys younger than me, men in their twenties 
and thirties and forties or whatever. Just about every 
guy in the world, it seemed, wanted to get a feel of my 
breasts, or if not that, then at least a peek at them. 

I can't begin to count the number of times some guy has 
told me, "Show me your tits!" Or simply reached out and 
touched me. Or suggested other things. Hey baby, you 
wanna fuck? You ever suck a guy's dick before? How bout 
a blowjob, sweetie pie? But now I'm getting into 
problems that every girl in the world has to deal with. 
At least Dad never put his hands on me, or said 
anything disgusting to me. Not when I was twelve, 
anyway.

*****

The thing with Dad didn't start until I was fifteen. 
But before I get into all the things that happened with 
my Dad, I have to tell this other secret first: around 
the same time that I grew breasts I had a couple of 
experiences that would change me, and would figure very 
importantly in the future.

The first thing that happened was that I saw my mom and 
dad having sex. It was on a Saturday morning and I'd 
gone to my parents' bedroom to ask them if I could go 
over to a friend's house and play. I forgot to knock 
and just went right into their room, and there was Dad 
laying on his back on the bed, totally naked, and Mom 
(also totally naked) was leaning over his stomach and 
sucking his cock. 

Being only ten years old, I was shocked by what I saw, 
but at the same time I was morbidly fascinated, and I 
ended standing there and watching as Mom's mouth bobbed 
up and down on my dad's surprisingly big cock (it was 
the first cock I'd ever seen, and naturally it seemed 
huge to me). I probably only watched for about two 
minutes before I started to worry that they'd notice me 
standing there and I left.

I tried to forget what I'd seen, but of course I 
couldn't. For the next week or so the image of my mom 
sucking my dad's cock kept invading my mind, and it 
made me feel creepy. Then the thing with my best friend 
Angela happened.

It was an eerily similar experience. I was staying over 
at her house on a Friday night, and we'd already gone 
to bed. I fell asleep pretty easily, but some time 
later I woke up and found myself alone in Angela's bed. 
I got up to find out where she'd gone, thinking maybe 
she just went to the bathroom. She wasn't in there, 
though, and I started searching through the rest of the 
darkened house. I finally found a light on in Angela's 
dad's den and I peeked in. 

I saw Angela's dad first, sitting in the chair in front 
of his desk, and then I saw Angela, on her knees in 
front of him. And, just like my mom had done with my 
dad, Angela had her dad's cock in her mouth and was 
stroking him as she moved her little mouth up and down 
on him. Angela's dad was petting her blonde hair and 
murmuring things to her, telling her how beautiful she 
was and how much he loved her, and what a sweet little 
girl she was.

I watched them too, but this time I waited until the 
end. I heard Angela's dad groan, then saw his come 
spilling from Angela's mouth and dribbling down over 
her little fingers.

I ran back to Angela's room and got in bed, waited 
there in the dark for her to return. When she finally 
did, I pretended that I was asleep as she crawled in 
next to me and went to sleep. But I didn't go to sleep. 
I stayed awake and thought about what I'd seen, 
recalling too what I'd seen my parents do only a week 
before. And then I began to touch myself.

It was the first time I'd ever seriously attempted to 
masturbate, and it was one of the most profound things 
I've ever experienced. I rubbed my little hairless 
pussy as I watched behind my closed eyes, first Mom 
sucking Dad, then Angela sucking her dad, then finally 
transmogrifying the images into one in which I was 
sucking my dad's cock and he was coming in my mouth and 
all over my fingers. He told me how beautiful was, how 
sweet I was, daddy's wonderful little girl. I ended 
bringing myself to three very surprising orgasms before 
I finally fell asleep.

After that night I masturbated nearly every day, and 
while my fantasy life grew over time to include other 
things, the mainstay of it remained the same: my dad 
telling me how much he loved me as I gave him a blowjob

Of course, I never expected anything like that to 
happen, and I didn't want to happen, either. It was 
just a naughty fantasy, something to indulge in 
secretly and to feel bad about, along with all the 
other things that come along to make a teenage girl 
feel rotten.

*****

By the time I was fifteen I'd filled out even more. I'd 
actually grown a pretty fine bod, and my breasts had 
grown even bigger. I was still only five feet tall, 
weighed less than a hundred pounds, but my bra size was 
already 34C. The damned things were enormous, so huge 
that even a priest would have a hard time ignoring 
them. In that sense, I couldn't blame Dad for what he 
ended up doing to me.

It started on the Fourth of July. Both my parents had 
the day off, and they'd decided to throw a party and 
invite a lot of their friends. Of course, I was 
encouraged to invite my friends too, but what normal 
teenager wants to go to a party where there's mostly 
going to be people in their forties? Even Mandy didn't 
want to come. So I ended up the only kid there, among a 
group of about twenty men and women, all of whom were 
going through their midlife crises.

Very predictable things occurred, not the least of 
which was that Mom made me do all the slave work, 
setting the tables and serving the food that Dad cooked 
on the barbecue, getting people their drinks, etc. 
Everybody talked to me like I was dumb, and while the 
men all checked out my bod their wives talked behind my 
back. 

Several guys "accidentally" bumped into me and copped a 
free feel, and one guy, that creepy Larry dude, Dad's 
friend at work, fondled me and even tried to kiss me in 
the hallway when I'd come out of the bathroom. The 
whole day was a total nightmare, and Dad, as much as I 
love him, made it even worse.

I was in the kitchen getting some beers for the drunks 
in the backyard, and just as I opened the fridge Dad 
came in from the living room.

"Hey there, sweetheart," he said.

"Hi, Daddy," I said as I took four beers from the 
fridge. I set them on the counter and started looking 
for the church key, but stopped when Dad suddenly came 
up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders.

"How's my little girl?" he asked.

"Okay, I guess," I replied, which was a total lie; the 
truth was I ready to bag this whole party and go hide 
in my room.

Dad didn't say anything. Instead, he started to rub my 
arms, moving his hands down to my elbows, then back up 
to my shoulders. He'd done this lots of times before 
and I didn't see anything wrong with it. Just normal 
dad type caressing. I even leaned my head to the side, 
exposing my neck so he could kiss me there, which he 
did. 

Another fairly normal thing for us. We were close. But 
then, as I tried to pull away (the maniacs out back 
wouldn't wait forever for their booze), he brought his 
arms all the way around me, pinning my arms to my 
sides, and he wouldn't let me go. I giggled, thinking 
he was just goofing around, but in the next second he 
brought his hands up and put them right on my breasts.

"Daddy?" I said. "What are you doing?"

Of course, it was an unnecessary question; I knew what 
he was doing, he was copping a feel. Just like any 
other guy in the world. I felt a pang of disappointment 
and hurt, part of me unable to believe that my own dad 
was doing this. 

At the same time I felt confused, because this wasn't 
any other guy in the world, this was my daddy, and I 
couldn't just push him away and tell him to leave me 
alone; that would have hurt his feelings. So, I found 
myself just standing there and doing nothing but 
listening to the stupid partiers outside and the 
suddenly loud beating of my heart as Dad continued to 
touch me, caressing and squeezing.

It was so strange, so alien, feeling him touching me, 
his large strong body so close to me. Strange, but 
also, in a sort of macabre way, intriguing. So this was 
what it was like to get molested by your dad. It wasn't 
exactly like I'd thought it would be.

It didn't last long. Only a few moments, half a minute 
at the most, then my dad let me go, stepped away from 
me, smiled his dadly way, and took the beers and the 
church key out into the backyard. I stayed where I was 
for a minute, feeling numb, close to trembling but not 
quite, then I went straight to my room and shut the 
door. I fell down on my bed face first and just laid 
there, trying not to think about anything. But then 
Angela came into my brain.

She'd confessed to me about six months before that her 
dad was sexually molesting her. Of course, I knew that 
already, but I hadn't known the extent of it. We'd 
never talked about it before. She told me that he'd 
started molesting when she was nine, beginning with 
just kissing and touching, but graduating in time to 
oral sex and, when she was twelve, to intercourse. She 
told me that she'd felt some physical pleasure from 
their encounters, and that she'd kept it a secret 
because she felt both guilty and grateful for her 
father's attention. She'd also been concerned about 
what telling would do to her family. She said all of 
this with tears in her eyes and a trembling pain in her 
voice, and I'd felt so sorry for her. 

As I laid there thinking about what my own dad had done 
to me, and how I'd felt about it, I couldn't help but 
wonder just how much of Angela's pain was due to her 
father's behavior, and how much of it might have been 
guilt over her own sense of responsibility. Because 
those same feelings were now pouring through my own 
system: yes, I felt violated and betrayed, overwhelmed 
by Dad's sudden sexual advances, but at the same time I 
felt a distinct pleasure, a physical warmth moving 
through me, from my chest down into my womb.

I felt excited in the way people usually do when 
they're doing something dangerous; and I felt flattered 
that this man whom I loved so much would love and 
desire me so much that he would feel compelled to 
trample the concrete social boundaries that had always 
separated us.

I turned over onto my back, rested my hands on my 
stomach, stared at the ceiling, and thought, 'Oh my 
God, what's wrong with me?'

It didn't seem illogical to me that I should blame 
myself, at least partly; after all, I'd sort of seduced 
him, hadn't I? With my tank-tops and halters and 
bikinis? "Flaunting my body," as my mom had put it? And 
now that I looked back on my behavior, I could see that 
I'd done more than just show off my breasts to him, I'd 
acted flirtatious in other ways as well, giving him coy 
looks and coquettish smiles, cuddling up to him on the 
sofa when we were watching TV, kissing him and hugging 
him in ways that maybe weren't exactly daughterish. 
Fired by my own dark fantasies, I'd given him all the 
signals, led him on, and Dad, being a fairly typical 
guy, had only given in to his desires. He couldn't help 
himself.

This was the way I saw it, anyway, and armed with that 
perspective I decided to change my own behavior, to 
dress more conservatively, and to be more careful about 
my body language. I would have to give up cuddling with 
him in front of the TV set, limit our hugs and kisses 
to the kind that was appropriate for a father and 
daughter, and if he touched me again the way he had in 
the kitchen, I would have to ask him to stop. And I've 
had to abandon those nasty fantasies.

Unfortunately, I didn't do all of that stuff.

*****

Everything was fine for more than a week after the 
party. Well, mostly fine. I still paraded around in my 
skimpy tops despite that I'd sworn I wouldn't; the 
weather was just too warm for anything else. I did 
manage to put on jeans or long pants instead of shorts, 
and to avoid any intimate types of contact with my dad. 
For his part, Dad seemed to have completely lost 
interest in me after that groping incident. I began to 
think that maybe he felt sorry for what he'd done, and 
that he'd made his own vow to not touch me anymore. But 
then the 14th of July came, and if Dad had made himself 
any kind of promise, he ended up breaking it to bits.

It was a Friday, and Mandy was staying over. Our plan 
was to isolate ourselves in my room and pig out on junk 
food while we watched movies in our peejays. Mandy had 
brought the movies, two scary ones and a romantic 
comedy, and I'd gone out that afternoon and bought 
oodles of potato chips, sodas, ding dongs, pretzels, 
you name it. We ate dinner with my parents, but 
afterward we went straight to my room and pretty much 
locked ourselves in with our sloth. We only ventured 
beyond my door when we had to go to the bathroom, which 
turned out to be rather frequently, what with all the 
soda pop.

It was while I was on one of my bathroom trips that Dad 
touched me for the second time. I wasn't in the 
bathroom, or even near it; I'd actually finished and 
was headed back to my room when I heard Dad calling me 
from downstairs. I went down to the living room without 
even thinking about what he might have planned for me.

I found him sitting on the sofa watching TV. Some dumb 
cop show with a lot of gunfire and speeding cars. When 
I came in he looked up at me and smiled, said, "Hey 
there, sweetheart," then his eyes dropped down to take 
a quick gander at my breasts.

"What is it, Daddy?" I asked, suddenly very conscious 
of how I was dressed. I wanted to take a peek myself, 
to see if he could see my nipples. Instead, I asked, 
"Where's Mom?"

"She turned in early," he replied. "Come sit here for a 
second. I want to talk to you."

I immediately feared the worst, but what could I do? So 
I went over and sat next to him on the sofa. Dad 
immediately put his arm around my shoulders and pulled 
me closer. He kissed my forehead, then said, "I want to 
talk to you about last week, at the Fourth of July 
party. What happened in the kitchen. Do you remember 
that?"

How could I forget?

"Yes, Daddy," I said. I was hoping he was going to 
apologize. My hopes were dashed, though, when he asked, 
"Did you like the way I was touching you?" His voice 
was low, secretive, and loving. "Well...." I said, but 
right at that moment I realized that if I said no I'd 
sort of be lying. He'd touched me inappropriately, I 
knew that much, and it had made me feel uncomfortable, 
but the truth was that I had liked it. Not so much the 
touching itself, but the fact that he was showing me 
such intimate attention. So, I couldn't say no, but if 
I said yes, that would have been a lie too. I finally 
settled on, "I dunno," fully aware of what an 
inadequate answer it was.

"Well, I sure did," Dad said. He cuddled me even 
closer, which I couldn't help but like, and then one of 
his hands landed gently on my left breast. He kissed me 
again, on the cheek, and began to fondle me as he 
spoke. 

"You have the most magnificent tits I've ever seen," he 
said. "Full and firm, and yet soft at the same time. A 
woman's tits. I think they're absolutely beautiful."

"Thank you, Daddy," I said, not knowing what else to 
say.

I could sense him smiling at me, but I was afraid to 
look up into his eyes. Instead I looked down at his 
hand, which moved in slow circles around my left breast 
before it moved over to the right one. It was like I 
was watching a movie; it was happening, but it wasn't 
really happening.

"I'd like to see them," Dad nearly whispered in my ear. 
"Would you mind showing them to me?"

A new variation on the old phrase, "Hey, baby, show me 
your tits!" I felt flattered and insulted at the same 
time. But I couldn't just ignore him. This was my 
Daddy, the man I'd always obeyed, the man for whom I'd 
always strived to be a good girl; a request from him 
was pretty close to a command.

I wordlessly took the hem of my tank-top in my fingers 
and pulled it up until my breasts were exposed.

"Jesus," Dad breathed. "They're perfect, Janie. Perfect 
tits." He began touching them again, first with his 
fingers, then cupping them in his hand, tenderly 
squeezing and pulling. I felt something go through me, 
that shock of excitement, of danger, of being 
thrillingly bad. I found myself holding my breath as 
Dad continued to caress me.

"Do you play with them?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked. I had a picture in my head 
of me juggling my breasts.

"When you masturbate. Do you play with your tits when 
you masturbate?"

I felt my face turning red. It was bad enough that my 
dad was talking to me like that, but to bring up the 
whole subject of masturbation was too much.

"I don't do that," I lied.

"Of course you do," Dad said. He was still caressing 
me, and now his fingers moved lightly over my nipples. 
I felt them begin to harden, and a warmth slowly moved 
from them down through my body, down into my stomach. 
"Everybody does. When I do it, I imagine you doing it. 
Playing with your tits."

"Oh my God," I said before I could stop myself. I 
wanted to get up, to get away from him, but for some 
reason I didn't. I just sat there and let him touch me 
and talk dirty to me.

"I imagine you sucking on them," Dad went on. "Taking 
each nipple into your mouth, and licking them. Moving 
your tongue in little circles around them. Or even 
letting me do it." He kissed me on the cheek. "Would 
you mind if I sucked your nipples?"

"But you're my dad," I said, fully aware that I wasn't 
exactly saying no. "That would be, like, incest."

Dad was silent for a moment, he'd stopped caressing me 
and was now just holding one of my breasts in his hand, 
and I thought I'd made him mad. But then he said, "I 
know that this must be difficult for you, sweetheart. 
You're right, I am your father, and everyone is 
conditioned to think that a sexual relationship is 
wrong for us. To tell you the truth, I think so too. 
And to actually have sex with you, well, I simply 
couldn't do that. I would never want to hurt you, 
Jane."

Of course, I wanted to believe him, and part of me did, 
and even felt comforted by what he'd said. But at the 
same time I couldn't believe him; after all, he was 
sitting there holding my breast like it was a rare 
treasure.

"But this," Dad went on, gently squeezing said 
treasure, "this is different. You're an exquisite girl, 
Jane, and your tits are....works of art. I'm obsessed 
with them, I guess. But just them. Just your beautiful, 
perfect tits."

I'd been looking down at my chest and his hand all this 
time, but now I turned my head and looked directly into 
my dad's eyes, and I could see that, however 
unacceptable it all was, he was telling the truth. He 
had an uncontrollable thing for my breasts. I didn't 
understand it, but at the same time I wanted to give 
him the benefit of the doubt; after all, he didn't want 
to have sex with me, he just wanted to play with me. 
Plus, there was that familiar sense of being flattered, 
of knowing that I was the one inspiring such 
inappropriate feelings.

"You promise you won't hurt me?" I heard myself asking.

"I promise," Dad replied solemnly.

I didn't say anything else, and Dad took that as his 
cue to lean in and kiss me, lightly on the lips, then 
move down to my chest. He kissed each of my breasts, 
first the right one then the left, then took my left 
nipple into his mouth. He sucked it tenderly, 
reverently. I could feel his lips and teeth, even his 
tongue as it swirled around the hardened nub, making it 
even harder, and sending a new warmth spiraling through 
the lower half of my body. 

Whatever thoughts I had left my head at that point, and 
I closed my eyes and focused on the sensations working 
within me. My breath became more shallow and my arms 
and legs tensed as Dad continued to pay his special 
kind of attention to me. I let go of my top, which I'd 
been holding up to my chin, and draped one arm around 
him. My other hand crept down to my thigh, then from 
there over to my crotch. I pressed my fingertips 
against myself, just applying a little pressure, not 
daring to do anything more. I could feel the building 
warmth there and had to force myself not to move my 
hand.

After some time, probably no more than a minute or so, 
Dad stopped, and I felt a huge wave of relief pour 
through me. He kissed my breasts again, then pulled my 
top down over them. His arms came around me, hugging me 
tightly as he pressed his cheek against mine.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" he asked softly.

"I'm fine," I replied just as softly.

We held each other for a few more long moments, then 
Dad let me go and sat back on the sofa. His eyes met 
mine, and I could see in them the same familiar love 
he'd always had for me, but altered now with a new sort 
of respect I'd never seen before.

"I'll let you get back to your movie now," he said.

I gave Dad a small shy smile, then got up from the sofa 
and went back upstairs. I felt like I'd just survived 
an air raid. I was shaking, a little dizzy, and my 
brain seemed to be full of clouds. I went into the 
bathroom and peed, washed my hands, then just stared at 
myself in the mirror for a while, not really thinking 
anything, before returning to my bedroom.

Mandy was sitting on my bed with a bag of potato chips 
and staring at the movie on the TV. When I saw her I 
felt a sudden urge to blurt out to her what had 
happened with my dad. I didn't, though, because I 
realized right at that instant that it wouldn't have 
been a report of abuse as much as it would have been a 
confession. Instead, I kept my mouth shut and joined 
her on the bed and we sat there together watching 
Legally Blonde 2 and munching chips and drinking sodas 
and laughing at the right moments. Two young girls, 
tormented in much the same way, and not talking about 
it, pretending that none of it was happening.

A few hours later, all pigged out from the junk food, 
we finally turned in. I lay on my back in the dark with 
Mandy cuddled up to me, her arm across my stomach and 
her nose nuzzled against my neck. I tried to drift off 
to sleep, but of course the harder you try to fall 
asleep the more awake you get. I ended up just laying 
there, playing again and again in my mind the things my 
dad had done to me, the way he'd touched me, the things 
he'd said, and the way I'd reacted (or not reacted) to 
them. The things I'd felt stirring in my body.

Part of me had been waiting for Mandy to fall asleep, 
and when I was reasonably confident that she had, I 
slipped one hand onto my left breast and began to 
fondle it. My other hand went down into my peejays. I 
closed my eyes and began to fantasize. Dad laying on 
top of me on the sofa, my tank-top pulled up over my 
face as he kissed my breasts and sucked my nipples. 
Murmured his fascination, his adoring obsession. I 
asked him to stop, even begged him, but his desire was 
overwhelming and I was powerless. 

As I thought these things I played with myself, 
squeezing and pulling on my left breast while I gently 
rubbed my pussy. I took my nipple between my finger and 
thumb, tweaked it until it was hard. I made little 
circles around my clit with my fingers. Moving faster 
and faster. In my fantasy Dad had taken out his dick. 
He continued to lick and suck my breasts, and just as 
he pushed it into me I came. My body shuddered, my womb 
exploded and filled with a remarkable warmth, a dribble 
of come poured over my fingers, and I made a noise deep 
in my throat, a kind of meep that wasn't very loud but 
still loud enough that I was afraid I'd woken Mandy.

Once it was over I turned my head and looked at my best 
friend but she was still asleep. I sighed with relief, 
then closed my eyes and went to sleep myself, comforted 
from the thought that not only had I not been 
discovered masturbating, but my secret dreams too were 
still secret.

*****

Over the next six days my dad molested me nine more 
times. Most of those times were situations in which he 
would manage to find me alone (Mom, conveniently, would 
either be gone or in another room), come up behind me, 
and reach around me to grab my breasts. Sometimes he 
would just hold them in his hands, and sometimes he 
would fondle them. Half the time he would slip his 
hands up my shirt to touch my bare skin, and play with 
my nipples. 

And I have to admit I made it easy for him, still 
wearing my skimpy tops with no bra, and once even a 
bikini top that he simply moved out of the way. And 
when he invariably went to kiss me on my cheek or neck 
I would tilt my head to the side so that too would be 
easy for him.

There's more that I have to admit: like the fact that I 
was masturbating every day now, sometimes more than 
once, and despite my strongest mental efforts Dad 
almost always figured in the fantasies somewhere; and 
that twice I was the one who'd gone to him. On Tuesday 
night, the 18th of July, I'd waited until Mom had gone 
to bed then deliberately cuddled up with him on the 
sofa (yes, I was doing that again) and let him kiss me 
and caress me as much as he liked. 

Then, the next night, I'd gone out to the garage where 
he was working on the car to tell him that dinner was 
ready and had went right up to him and put my arms 
around his neck for a kiss. He kissed me, then felt me 
up right there next to our car and in full view of 
whatever neighbors might be watching.

But that's not all; the final time my dad came to me in 
that six day period, he had come up behind me when I 
was in the kitchen putting the dishes away (I had no 
idea where Mom was, she could easily have come in and 
caught us) and embraced me, stuck his hands up my tank-
top and started feeling my breasts, and while he was 
doing that I could feel his hard-on pressing against my 
left hip. That by itself wasn't the big deal, though. 
The big deal was that, without thinking about it, I 
reached back with my left hand and started to stroke 
him through his pants.

I couldn't tell exactly how long his dick might have 
been, but it was obvious that it was longer than your 
average dick, and thicker. I found myself fascinated by 
it, probably as much as Dad was fascinated with my 
breasts, or nearly as much. I'd never actually touched 
one before, and it felt strange, and a little scary. I 
kept touching him, though, sliding my palm and my 
fingers up and down the length of my dad's dick as he 
nuzzled my neck and caressed my breasts.

After about a minute of that we stopped, and just in 
time, because about a nanosecond later Mom came into 
the kitchen. I know I had the crap scared out of me, 
and Dad probably did too, because he didn't even come 
near me the rest of the night, or most of the next day.

*****

But the next day was Friday, and Mom had gone to spend 
the weekend with my Aunt Diane, leaving me and Dad 
alone in the house, which was a perfect opportunity for 
things to start up again.

Dad was in the living room watching television when I 
went in to take a shower at nine o'clock. While I 
showered I masturbated to a fantasy of me and Mandy 
together (every once in a blue moon I like to give in 
to the lesbian within), then stood under the water for 
a long time, not really thinking about anything. 
Finally, I got out, dried off, blow-dried my hair, then 
wrapped a towel around myself and went to my room to 
get ready for bed, all the while expecting Dad to come 
to me.

I left my bedroom door open as I took off my towel and 
tossed it onto my bed. I went over to my dresser to get 
my nightclothes, pulling out a tank-top, pajama 
bottoms, and a pair of panties. I put the panties on 
first, then the peejay bottoms, and just as I was about 
to put on my tank-top I sensed someone in the room with 
me. I turned around and there was Dad, standing just 
inside my doorway, looking right at me. Or, more 
accurately, right at my breasts. I automatically 
crossed my arms in front of me, covering up my chest, 
feeling my face get red from embarrassment.

"Daddy," I said, "I'm getting dressed." I was going for 
a scolding tone of voice but it didn't come out that 
way.

"I can see that," Dad replied.

He came further into the room, shutting the door behind 
him. I didn't move, although I continued to hold my top 
up in front of me. Dad came right up to me and put his 
arms around me. He hugged me against his body, with my 
arms still crossed over my chest and now stuck between 
us. As he hugged me he kissed the top of my head, then 
began sliding his hands up and down my bare back. I 
could feel his warm breath in my ear, and I could smell 
his aftershave. I'd always loved the way my dad 
smelled, so clean and masculine.

"You're such a beautiful young woman," he said, his 
voice deep and mesmerizing. "The most beautiful woman 
I've ever seen." Now one of his hands was stroking my 
hair. "And I love you more than anyone in this world. 
You know that, don't you Jane?"

"Yes," I said softly. He'd told me that about a million 
times, but I never got tired of hearing it. I couldn't 
help but smile a little bit.

Dad drew back and looked at me with worshipful eyes. I 
returned his gaze, my lips still in half a smile.

"Let me look at you, sweetheart," he said. His hands 
came around from behind me and gently took hold of my 
wrists. He pulled them away from my chest, and along 
with them went my tank-top. My breasts were in full 
view now, and he looked down at them with the same 
reverence he'd had for my eyes.

"My God," he said. "I think I told you before, you have 
the most amazing tits I've ever seen."

Actually, he'd said magnificent.

He made a mmm noise, then leaned down and began to kiss 
and lick my breasts like he'd done before. My nipples 
were instantly erect, and Dad took one into his mouth. 
He gently sucked on it while he played with the other 
one, and I made my own noise, kind of a luxuriant sigh 
mixed with a murmur of doubt. I put my arms around him, 
caressed his shoulders and his back. Feeling his hard 
muscles, the bones of his spine. 

There was a heat building inside me, growing in my 
stomach and between my legs, and it made my breath come 
shorter and shorter. Instinctively, I arched my back, 
not to move my breasts further from him but to move my 
pussy closer to him. I murmured again, sounding to 
myself like a kitten meowing for milk.

I couldn't understand my behavior, what was happening 
to me, but I didn't have time to think about it. Dad 
suddenly pulled his mouth away from me, moved his hands 
from my breasts down to my waist, and said, "Turn 
around." I let go of him and turned around, and found 
myself looking at my reflection in the mirror on my 
bedroom door. "Just stand here like this," Dad said. 

I stayed still as Dad resumed touching me, his eyes 
(and mine) locked onto the image in the mirror. It 
seemed unreal to me, as if I was watching a movie, and 
yet at the same time it obviously was real, that was me 
in the mirror, that was Daddy and his hands, my 
breasts, my dark and serious eyes.

We watched ourselves for a while, both of us transfixed 
with our mirror images. Finally, Dad broke the spell by 
dropping one of his hands down to the fly on his pants. 
I followed him with my eyes as he unfastened the 
button, pulled down the zipper, and reached inside. He 
drew out his cock, which was surprisingly long, and 
hard. He grasped my wrist and pulled my hand back 
toward it. 

I wrapped my fingers around it and, with no prodding, 
began to stroke it. I was surprised again, this time by 
how it seemed both hard and soft at the same time, and 
how the skin moved with my hand even though the stiff 
muscle underneath stayed still. It was like a thing 
alive in my hand, and I felt both scared and excited by 
it.

Dad moaned softly in my ear as he caressed me and I 
stroked him. His touch was tender but purposeful as he 
massaged my breasts and pinched my nipples, becoming 
more and more urgent, and as the pressure from his 
hands and fingers increased so did the speed with which 
I moved my hand up and down on his cock. Finally, with 
a grateful sounding groan.

Dad tightened his grip on my breasts and came, his 
semen spurting out of the end of his dick in milky 
globs that arced slightly upward before descending and 
making little splotchy noises as they hit the hardwood 
floor. There were three or four good squirts before the 
stuff began to dribble out, pouring down over my hand 
and wrist, and eventually leaking onto my left thigh. 
It was very warm, almost hot in a way, and felt sticky 
on my skin.

It was the first time I'd ever experienced any of these 
things; holding a cock in my hand, stroking it, making 
a man come, feeling his come on my body. The fact that 
it was my dad that I was experiencing all of this with 
seemed like a minor issue compared to the sense of 
power I felt.

The erotic intensity, the fear, the danger, and even 
the pleasure, It made me extremely horny, and I had a 
sudden vision in my head of Dad losing all control, 
throwing me onto my bed and fucking me against my will. 
The idea terrified me, and yet I knew that if it 
happened, I wouldn't do anything to stop it.

Nothing of the kind did happen, though. As soon as he 
was spent, Dad released me and took a few steps back. I 
let go of his cock and looked down at the mess on the 
floor, then at the pearly liquid running down my leg, a 
thin river of come that had now made its way past my 
knee. I looked at the stuff on my hand too, imagining 
all those little babymakers swimming around, and 
thought, 'If this stuff was inside of me right now...'

I looked at my dad. He had put his cock back in his 
pants and was zipping them up, his eyes focused on what 
he was doing but still looking somewhat guilty and 
sheepish.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and 
contrite.

"It's okay, Daddy," I heard myself say. I wanted to 
say, 'I know you didn't mean it,' but that was exactly 
the problem, wasn't it? He did mean it, he meant it 
like mad.

*****

The next morning everything seemed normal once again; 
Dad and I ate breakfast together, then I did the dishes 
before going back to my room to get dressed for the 
day. I'd selected a pair of snug jeans and a pink tank-
top with the words 'Girls Rule' across the front, but 
just after I'd finished getting dressed Dad came to the 
door and said, "You know what would look even better? 
If you put on your blue bikini top."

I wordlessly took off my tank and got the bikini top 
out of my dresser and put it on, with Dad watching me 
closely the whole time. Once I had it on, and I had my 
breasts adjusted in the cups, he came over to me, held 
them for a moment, then said, "Perfect." He kissed my 
neck, pulled the bikini top down, and we were at it 
again, him playing with me while I played with him 
until he shot his load onto my bedroom floor. When we 
were done, he let go of me and casually said, "Let's go 
down to the mall." I said okay like it was just another 
day.

It was sunny outside and really warm, already eighty 
degrees, but in the mall it was nice and cool, almost 
cold. The bikini top I had on was sort of thin, and my 
nipples were poking out. I got tons of attention, of 
course, guys checking me out without an ounce of shame, 
their wives and girlfriends giving me nasty looks. Dad 
and I walked through the mall hand in hand, Dad not 
exactly beaming but certainly looking like he was proud 
to be seen with me. 

I flashed on the thought that people might think I was 
his girlfriend instead of his daughter, and I was sure 
that was what he was thinking too. I felt strange; part 
of me cringed at the idea, but part of me found it 
erotic too. Those guys staring the hell out of my body, 
especially my breasts, might be imagining the two of us 
together, and not just doing what we'd done, but going 
all the way. Fucking. Some of them, probably the men 
who were my dad's age, might be imagining that, even 
though they could tell that we were father and 
daughter. Maybe that was even a plus in their heads.

We strolled around a while, stopping in front of 
different store windows just to look at stuff. When we 
stopped in front of a jewelry shop window Dad put his 
arm around my waist and pulled me close to him.

"People think we're a couple," I said.

Dad was silent for a few moments, then said, "We are a 
couple, aren't we?" He kissed the top of my head.

"Against all the odds," I answered. "Not to mention the 
laws of nature."

Dad's only reply was a soft chuckle. We were silent and 
motionless for another minute or so, then Dad said, 
"It's too bad you can't go topless here. I'd love to 
let everyone see those gorgeous tits of yours. Maybe 
that's what we should do. Find a nude beach somewhere 
and show you off."

"I'm only fifteen, Dad," I said. "I'd get busted." I 
noticed the slight tone of disappointment in my voice; 
I did like the idea of being naked in public.

"Okay, then," Dad went on, "I have another idea. What 
if I take pictures of you topless and post them on the 
internet?"

"Also illegal," I said. "Man, you just wanna break the 
law, don't you?" I didn't bother to mention that he'd 
already committed several crimes with me.

"What can I say, Jane? I'm a man obsessed."

There was that word again. He made it sound like he had 
no choice in the matter, that his desire for me was 
completely out of control, there was nothing he could 
do to stop it. It wasn't his fault. Which meant it was 
mine. The idea kind of made me mad, but I didn't say 
anything. Because I knew that, whatever Dad told 
himself, the truth was that I was more helpless than he 
was. I had to be.

"Come on, sweetheart," Dad said. "Let's go buy you some 
goodies."

We went to a music store, where he bought me some CDs; 
to a bookstore where he bought me a new romance novel 
(and a book for himself: 'Sexus,' by Henry Miller); to 
the computer store for a digital camera; and the final 
stop, the Bon, for a brand new outfit that Dad picked 
out for me, blue jeans, a snug white blouse, and an 
embarrassingly sexy bra made out of blue lace. New 
socks, too. 

Dad spent about five hundred dollars that day, and I 
knew that the tiny amounts of guilt he might be feeling 
weren't the only reason he spent so much; he was buying 
my compliance too. Buying me. On the way out to the car 
I told him, "Guess this makes me your whore, now," but 
he either ignored me or he didn't hear.

When we got home the first thing he wanted me to do was 
put my new bra on. I obediently took off my bikini top, 
right there in the living room, and donned the bra. Dad 
ogled me for a minute, felt me up through the bra for 
another minute, then told me, "Time to test your new 
camera."

He reached into one of the shopping bags and brought 
out the digital camera.

"What are you going to do with that?" I asked as he 
fiddled with it, although the answer was obvious.

"Just gonna take a few pictures, sweetie," Dad replied. 
"Don't worry, I won't put them on the internet. This'll 
just be for my private collection."

"Collection?" I said. "You mean you have other pictures 
of me? When did you take pictures of me?"

"No nude pictures. Just, you know, some of the family 
pictures we've taken."

Somehow that information didn't make me feel any 
better.

"Okay now," Dad said, bringing the camera up to his 
face, "Hold still." The camera clicked and the flash 
made me blink. "Great. Now, clasp your hands together 
in front of you." I did. Another click, more blindness.

Dad ended up taking about thirty pictures of me, posing 
with the bra on, taking the bra off, showing off my 
breasts, caressing my breasts, etc. He even asked me to 
suck on them, and when I did I discovered that I 
actually liked doing it. I held my breasts up, one in 
each hand, and licked little circles around my nipples, 
took them between my lips and my teeth, and as Dad 
snapped the camera I felt myself getting more and more 
turned on. 

Eventually, I laid down on the sofa and undid my pants, 
slipped my hand down to my pussy, and masturbated while 
I continued to suck on my own breasts. I came twice 
doing that, and Dad got it all on digital film, or 
disk, or whatever's in those things. After the second 
orgasm Dad put the camera down and stood between the 
coffee table and the sofa.

"Keep doing that," he said as he undid his fly. He 
pulled out his cock and started masturbating too, 
watching me as I continued sucking my breasts. After a 
minute or so, he said, "I wanna come on your tits."

I immediately let go of them and they fell (not 
flopped) back to their natural position on my chest. 
Dad grunted, staring hard at my breasts as he jerked 
his cock, and a moment later he was coming on me. It 
squirted from the end of his cock and landed on my 
breasts and stomach in warm messy blotches. Some of it 
dribbled down the sides of my breasts and onto the 
sofa; one glop of it pooled in my belly button. Without 
thinking I stuck my finger in it, swirled it around a 
little.

"That's it," Dad said, "smear it all over."

I didn't want to do that, though; the stuff was too 
sticky. But Dad didn't wait for me to follow his 
instructions. He sort of knelt on the edge of the sofa, 
his knee near my rib cage, and used the head of his 
still hard cock to spread the stuff over my breasts. At 
one point his cock touched my chin and, again without 
thinking, I lashed my tongue out and licked a drop of 
his come from his cock. It was surprisingly salty and 
bitter and it made me grimace. 

I looked up at Dad to see his reaction to what I'd just 
done, to see if he was shocked or disgusted or even 
turned on, but he seemed not to have even noticed. His 
eyes were still locked onto my breasts, and the mess he 
was making on them. It was at that moment that I 
realized that my breasts were all he cared about. He 
didn't love me, he just loved my big tits.

I could have been anybody.

*****

After we were done I went upstairs and took a shower 
and tried to figure out what, if anything, I should do. 
Or could do. What exactly does a girl do when she 
learns that her dad is only having sex with her because 
she has big breasts? There wasn't anything in 
'Seventeen' magazine that covered that kind of thing.

Of course, I knew what the right thing to do was. I had 
to tell him to stop touching me, to leave me alone or I 
would tell. But I didn't want to tell, I didn't want 
all the consequences of that, my dad going to jail, my 
parents getting divorced, and me being labeled a sick 
slut. Besides, I didn't really want him to stop. 

I knew it was all a big messed up nightmare, but I was 
too attracted to his attraction to me. His way of 
looking at me and needing me so badly, there was a lot 
of power there. Sure, I was being molested, but in a 
way I knew that I was the one calling the shots. That 
was why, when Dad came to me later on and suggested 
that I sleep with him in his bed, I agreed without 
batting an eye.

I was nervous as I crawled into bed with him. I knew 
that what we were about to do was about a hundred times 
more wrong than anything we'd done up to this point. 
The fondling and the masturbation might, if you tried, 
be considered something less than incest, but now we 
were going to have sex. He was going to make me suck 
his dick, and he was going to fuck me. I was going to 
lose my cherry to my very own dad.

Except, again, nothing like that happened. In fact, 
almost nothing at all happened. Dad did cuddle up to 
me, run his hands over my body for a few minutes, but 
then he kissed my forehead, said, "Good night, Kitten," 
and went to sleep.

*****

I didn't sleep well that night, and when I did sleep I 
just had weird dreams in which Dad was following me 
around and squeezing my breasts, or else jerking off 
and drenching me with his come. I woke up around six 
o'clock in the morning. Dad was still asleep, lying on 
his back with his face turned away from me. I watched 
him sleep for a while, thinking about what we'd done 
the night before, and how he'd pretty much snubbed me 
when got into bed. 

I couldn't understand him; he wanted me so much, and 
yet he didn't seem to want all of me. Of course, he'd 
told me that he could never have sex with me. 'I would 
never want to hurt you, Jane.' That was what he'd said. 
So, maybe he was just afraid of hurting me. Maybe if I 
showed him that I wasn't afraid of taking things 
further, that I was willing to let him have what he 
really wanted, that it wouldn't hurt me....

I pushed the blanket down to his waist, saw that he was 
wearing pajamas. I looked down at his crotch and 
spotted the bulge there. I reached over and put my hand 
on it, felt my dad's hardness. I caressed him through 
his peejays, then reached inside the little hole and 
wrapped my fingers around his cock. Very gently, I 
pulled it out. It was warm and fleshy and semi-hard in 
my hand. I started to stroke it, sliding my hand from 
his balls up to the tip, then back down again. 

In a minute it was fully erect, although Dad hadn't 
woken up. I steeled myself, then leaned over his 
stomach and took his cock into my mouth.

After that I had no idea what to do. I'd never 
performed oral sex on anybody, or even practiced doing 
it. From what I understood, you were supposed to move 
your mouth up and down on it, but I was afraid to do 
that, because what if I accidentally bit him or 
something? I decided to just stroke him as if I was 
jerking him off, and I began to do that. I moved my 
hand in a sort of slow rhythm up and down the shaft as 
I held onto the head with my lips, and in a short time 
I tasted the musty taste of his pre-cum on my tongue. 

I tried to decide right then whether I should go ahead 
and give him a full blowjob or not, but before I could 
decide I felt Dad's hand on the back of my head. He 
stroked my hair for a moment, then touched me under the 
chin. I took that as a signal to stop and pulled my 
mouth off the end of his cock. I looked at him and saw 
him staring at me with sleepy eyes and an oddly serious 
expression on his face.

"Good morning, Daddy," I said.

Dad didn't reply. Instead, he gently but firmly pushed 
me away from him and got out of bed.

"What's wrong?" I asked, but still he didn't say 
anything.

He put his robe on and left the room, and I lay there 
in bed for a long time, wondering what I'd done that 
could make him angry with me. Finally, I got up and put 
on the peejay bottoms and my brand new blue lace bra 
and went out to the kitchen. He was sitting at the 
table with a cup of coffee and the morning paper. I got 
some coffee for myself and sat across from him.

"Why are you mad at me, Daddy? What did I do?"

"I told you before," Dad replied, "I don't want to have 
sex with you. That would be wrong."

"Really," I said. "And feeling my boobs and making me 
give you handjobs isn't wrong?"

"I never made you do anything, Jane."

"That's a lie. You were the one that started this whole 
thing. You were the one that just started feeling me up 
out of the blue."

"I don't recall you ever trying to stop me," Dad said. 
There was a clear note of accusation in his voice and 
it made me mad.

"I'm only fifteen!" I shot back. "I'm just a kid, and 
you're my dad, for crying out loud!"

"Oh, don't give me that! You were just as much into it 
as I was!"

Our argument raged on from there, both of us getting 
more and more angry, and saying meaner and meaner 
things to each other. Dad called me a tramp and a tease 
and I called him a child molester and a rapist and 
threatened to call the cops. It nearly even got violent 
when Dad picked up his coffee cup and threw it in my 
direction. It missed me by a wide margin, though, and 
shattered against the wall. That was when I realized 
that things had gotten totally out of hand and I should 
just get away from him.

I stormed out of the kitchen, intending to go upstairs 
and lock myself in my room, but just as I got past the 
sofa in the living room I felt Dad grab my arm.

"Hold on, goddammit," he said as he forced me to stop.

I turned around and yelled, "Leave me alone!"

Dad ignored me, pulling and pushing me over to the 
sofa.

"What are you doing?" I cried.

Dad slapped me in the face, the first time he'd ever 
done that, then shoved me down onto the sofa. I 
immediately tried to get up again and he sort of fell 
on top of me. I struggled with him, but all I managed 
to do was fall onto the carpeted floor between the sofa 
and the coffee table. Dad had me pinned, mostly with 
his weight, and he grabbed my bra and tore it off of 
me.

'Oh my God,' I thought, 'He's going to rape me.'

"Dad, stop, please," I said.

"Knock it off," Dad told me. "You want this and you 
know it." He kissed me hard on the mouth as he squeezed 
my breasts hard enough to make them hurt. "Now, just 
stay still and stop fighting me."

He sat up and untied the belt on his robe, then took 
the robe off. His cock was sticking straight out above 
my stomach, looking frighteningly long and hard. I 
imagined that giant thing forcing its way into my body, 
invading me and tearing me, and tears came to my eyes.

"Daddy, please!" I pleaded.

Dad repositioned himself on top of me so that he was 
sitting on my stomach, then he grabbed my breasts and 
pushed them together, enveloping his cock. I was still 
struggling against him, but my efforts died away as my 
dad arched his back and pushed his cock forward, 
sliding his shaft and balls against my skin, then 
pulled it back, then pushed forward again. Each time he 
pushed forward the head of his cock came up, either 
stopping just above my mouth or actually poking me in 
the nose. 

I tilted my head toward him and opened my mouth, so 
that each time he pushed, the end of his cock went 
right into my mouth. So essentially I was giving him 
oral sex at the same time. I couldn't keep my head held 
up like that for long, though, so I would lay back down 
to rest for a few moments, then lift up again and take 
him back into my mouth.

"Oh, yeah," Dad moaned. "I've always wanted to fuck 
your beautiful tits. Ever since you grew the damned 
things I've wanted to do this."

Dad continued to clutch my breasts and grunt and groan 
as he shoved his cock forward again and again. While he 
did this I slid my hands down into my peejays and 
started to play with myself. I stuck one finger into my 
pussy and fucked myself with it as I used my other hand 
to rub and tease my clit. It went on this way, me 
masturbating and sucking my dad's cock as he tit-fucked 
me, both of us feeling a growing passion as we each 
realized our darkest fantasies.

I was the first one to come. My head was resting on the 
floor at the time and I cried out at the ceiling as the 
storm of lust crashed inside of me and my pussy spurted 
its hot juices over my fingers. 

A moment later Dad reached his own peak. He pushed his 
cock forward, nearly crushing my breasts with his 
hands, and suddenly his come was spilling all over my 
face, on my forehead, my cheeks, my nose and lips, and 
dripping down into my mouth. Some of it even got in my 
hair. I swallowed the small amount of semen on my 
tongue, then licked the end of my dad's cock until 
there was nothing left.

When it was over Dad pulled himself off of me and sat 
heavily on the sofa.

"Jesus, that was amazing," he said, out of breath. I 
just lay there on the floor, breathing hard and 
silently agreeing with him.

After a while we both got up and went into the bathroom 
to take a shower together. As we lathered each other up 
Dad told me that he hadn't meant to make me suck him 
off and I finally just flat out told him that I'd 
wanted to do it, and that he didn't have to worry about 
it. I confessed to him my own fantasies of giving him 
head, and that while I still didn't think we should 
fuck, we could at least go on giving each other the 
kind of pleasure we'd given each other in the living 
room. Dad said that sounded like a great idea, then he 
took my breasts in his soapy hands and squeezed them as 
he kissed me. Then he tickled me, making me laugh, and 
impulsively I got down on my knees and took his cock 
into my mouth.

I just barely got started on sucking him when the 
shower curtain was suddenly pulled open and there was 
my mom, standing there with a shocked look on her face.

*****

I found out later that it was my giggle that had given 
us away. Mom had come home early from her sister's 
house and had thought the house was empty. But then 
she'd heard my laughter and thought I was in the shower 
with a boy, and had barged in to put a stop to it. 
Needless to say, finding me on my knees with my dad's 
cock in my mouth was the last thing she'd expected.

And of course, the shit hit the fan. Mom and Dad argued 
at the top of their lungs for the rest of the day, Mom 
threatening to call the police, to kick Dad out and 
file for divorce, to send me to a reform school or to 
simply kick my slutty ass out on the street. In the 
end, none of that happened. Mom and Dad stayed 
together, if unhappily, and he and I never did anything 
sexual again.

It wasn't too long after we were discovered, though, 
that I started doing things with guys. Not just letting 
them feel my breasts, but letting them fuck me, and 
giving them head too. In fact, I became quite a slut 
over the next three or four years, the most popular 
girl in school, letting all of my inhibitions go and 
exploring every facet of my desires.

I'm twenty-five years old now, and I'm still pretty 
much a slut. Angela and I share a two bedroom apartment 
downtown, and we both go out with a different guy every 
week, and we always give it up. And sometimes, if we've 
had enough to drink, we crawl in bed together and play 
around a little and talk about how, when we've got some 
guy's hard cock in our mouths and he's shooting his 
come over our tongues and down our throats, for our own 
reasons, it's our daddies we have in the back our 
minds.

end

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a 
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 46