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Archive name: dadspap.txt (MF, father/daughter, inc)
Authors name: Carl Manner (cmanner@prodigy.com)
Story title : Daddy's Papers
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 1992-2000.
Please do not remove the author information or make
any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-
commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of
commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration.
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DADDY'S PAPERS (MF, father/daughter, inc)
by Carl Manner (c) 1992
**
Author's note: Dear Reader - Several of my stories have
been stolen and published under the nondeplume of
"Unknown Author" if you happen to run across a story
with this title without my name attached please email
me at: cmanner@prodigy.com. Thank you.
**
As a new mother...and new widow...I felt for Dad when
Mom died. The whole thing was like a horrible nightmare
at the time. I had only had Justin a month when Greg
died at the hands of a drunk driver. I thought I'd never
stop grieving and the entire time I persevered, both mom
and dad were there for support and I am amazed to this
day that I simply just did not die myself.
Those fourteen months were agony not just for me but
for my parents...they had liked Greg and our son - while
not aware of the loss - seemed so much more sad in my
arms at night as I fed him and tried hard to smile and
laugh with him.
Babies are a blessing - this one just happened to be
the blessing I needed at a time I loathed.
Thank God for my parents and the friends who helped me
through those times. My grief support group was
invaluable at helping me repiece my life together and
having to move back home for financial reasons at age
twenty was not simple for us three but...it was
nostalgic.
It was just when the nightmare got by us and it seemed
as though things were improving that Mom got
sick....diagnosed with cancer - a month or less to live.
She barely made those 30 days though, and it was
strange...there was not the horror or grief for her that
there had been for Greg...maybe because she seemed so
peaceful about it...so content with the life that she
had. She was not by any means old...41 is certainly not
prime-time for death...but oddly, both Dad and I sensed
a sort of comfort when she finally passed...not a
happiness...just a sense of relief that she had not
suffered horribly and that we could cry at our loss but
be moved by her peace.
So it was that Dad and I wound up a couple of
surviving relatives and slowly getting things back
together. Dad was not afraid of showing his feelings...
he cried...but he was also a strong man and saw no
reason to wallow....he knew that Mom would have been
best respected by not dying with her. We both took
this principal to heart as we started to get out again.
He started to go to local ball-games again with Mitch
and Wally (his best friends for years now) and no
longer tormented by the jealousy of their present
husbands, I started visiting old friends.
And Justin was turning one. What a wonderful time!!!
That was when that old memory started to bother me
again. A peculiar memory about which I was never certain
how I felt...and sometimes as an adult....was certain it
had been some bizarre dream or hoax of my youthful
imagination.
But illusion or not, as it had been many times here
and there in my late teens and after Greg and I got
married, it was there again.
When I was about fourteen, I had been working on a
project for a local academic fair....a sign for my
project or something or other...and my marker ran out.
Out in the yard, Mom and Dad were barbecuing and
laughing at some radio program so I'd decided to just
help myself to Dad's office and his office supplies.
Dad had a huge desk upon which he sometimes laid a
long blotter so that he could work at his models of old
cars and I loved the smell of the hickory and the feel
of the leather chair. Loving nothing better than to
steal in there whenever I got the opportunity, I'd spin
in that chair and savor the smell of everything and
wonder what lurked in those drawers.
Dad did some writing on the side and sold some of his
stories to local publications...stories of his youth I
simply never could bear listening to in whole...and so
there was always a stack of paper on the desk-top and a
basket full of waste.
After finding the markers, I'd sat in the chair
spinning around, listening intently for the coming of
either of my parents as I was not supposed to trespass
here without permission. I could hear them still out at
the porch barbecuing and I could smell the hamburgers
cooking and everything seemed wonderful.
As I had an occasional tendency to do, to see what he
was writing but not finding anything promising, I'd dug
into the garbage pail, then noticing some crumpled pages
at the bottom which seemed to draw me by their
concealment, I'd fetched them out. Hearing my parent
call for me, I'd panicked and running through the back
entrance to the kitchen, round to the foyer and up the
stairs, I hid them under my pillow.
Then back down I went.
Later that afternoon, when Mom and Dad went for a walk
with the dogs (two very cute matching terriers named
Fickle and Pickle) I enjoyed what I rarely had - twenty
minutes with the house to myself.
With lots of cupboards above a window-seat and ladder
that slid back and forth for me to climb that Dad had
built, I had a great room for hiding things. Even
though it was still a bit girlish for a fourteen year
old, I liked it..it kept me feeling young and innocent
even though my mind was just unraveling the wonders of
sex and lying and cheating (I had copied off a friends
math test once and felt terribly guilty for it).
Innocence going...going....
Anyhow, knowing full well there was nothing to see,
but pleased with my petty thievery and excited by my
successful getaway, I retrieved dad's papers.
Only there was something to see....something to see
indeed.
Expecting the usual, `When I was ten...blah blah...',
I read it unwittingly, but discovering a frightening
tale of a fourteen year-old daughter her father was
starting to fantasize about, and though feeling horrible
about said fantasies...still found them
instead....arousing.
I'd never thought of my father that way and the
reality was just much too frightening for me to digest,
so I did not get far into the story before I was shaking
and feeling overwhelmed.
Hiding the papers in one of the very top cupboards
where I knew even I rarely looked, stuffing them into a
box of old Barbies I no longer played with...I just sat
there wide-eyed.
GOD!
I know I felt uncomfortable around Dad for awhile, but
somehow, I just forgot about it. Sometimes, the old
memory would flutter back into my brain but for the most
part it was a dream I had, a strangely erotic but
frightening dream.
Thinking back now, I think I was as terrified about
how it made me feel as I was about how it made HIM feel.
Children aren't supposed to feel those things about
their parents - I had hardly felt them all that
thoroughly about boys I knew at school, my age.
Anyhow, the only times it seemed to come back were
those times when Dad and Mom would be admiring my beauty
and Dad would say something like, "You sure have grown
into a gorgeous young woman,"; it would crop up out of
nowhere and I'd feel that same blend of eroticism and
fear and then it would be gone.
Sometimes, I would look into the mirror at my blonde
hair and blue eyes and admire my slender and shapely
figure and think how it was true. I was pretty, very
desirable. And I guess Greg had thought so too, because
he could barely wait until our wedding night.
But then, it would all slip away and life would go on.
And the years passed.
And now I was thinking about it again and the house
felt empty without anyone but me: Dad out at a game,
Greg gone, Mom gone, Justin with Greg's parents for the
day.
Not sure if I had left that box of Barbies or had
thrown them out, out of curiosity, I went into my room
and getting on the first rung of the white ladder (it
still held me), I opened that cupboard. Even though I
was only 21, it all seemed so long ago.
To my surprise and sudden anticipation, just where I
had left it that day, the box was still there.
Were those papers really there? Had I thrown them out?
Had it all been some dream?
But the fear and eroticism of this secret seemed to
excite me and I felt suddenly....alive. Almost too
terrified to open it, I took the box down and opening
it, there beneath the Barbie dolls, even more wrinkled
from my handling of them that day when I shoved them in
there, were those papers.
Pulling them out gently, I lovingly eyed the pages...
the words.
Yes. This was it. This was that story, and now reading
it and realizing how well it was written, I knew it was
indeed his style (as I now loved and admired his work)
and yes...there was no mistaking...this was my father
and me in this story.
Terrified again, just as I was when I was fourteen,
but able to handle the graphic images of carnal
indulgence, I was much more fascinated. In fact, I was
able to mostly put aside my other complicated feelings
and really become aroused by it all....somehow imagining
the people in this story...as people no longer my father
and myself, but people we once were.
And admittedly, I think it aroused me more than I had
ever been aroused before. Ever!
Putting the pages and the box back, I spent most of
that day thinking about the whole thing in my mind, not
savoring the story but instead the thinking behind why
my father wanted to so passionately have sex with me
when I was fourteen. From what I knew, a normal father
with a healthy sex life, he had no other strange sexual
problems. I was pretty then...sexy I suppose in a
way....boys seemed to like me and I knew there was
talk...boys making up stories about me. But I was pure
as the driven snow....that's what Greg said....that's
what turned him on so much...that I was so....sweet.
Was that Dad's attraction? I had wondered a few times
if all fathers didn't have this secret urge to do these
things with their daughters. Did they? Was my dad just
average that way?
Had it been just a phase?
Anyhow, these were the things I wrestled with that day
and by bedtime, I was glad to get back to the pages and
reread them again, this time allowing myself a little
less room for morality so that I could get aroused
enough to masturbate (something I had only done three
times in my whole life, all of them being after Greg's
death when I was sexually frustrated). As I did, my head
was filled with the images of the story...this girl..who
had been me...eagerly performing oral sex on her
father...once my father.
GOD! Horribly mixed with guilt and shame, parts of
those feelings blended into the excitement and somehow
made it more arousing.
Afterwards, with the arousal quelled, the whole thing
seemed awfully silly and I laughed a bit. Elektra I was
not!!
But the next four days were not much different. Life
was `normal' enough, but in the back of my mind, I
started wondering if Dad still saw me that way, still
wondered himself and invariably, like some sex-crazed
teen ashamedly hiding under the covers to peek at Dad's
Playboy, this tiny little obsession brought me back to
those pages again and again.
Only this Playboy was much more torrid, much more
taboo.
Thinking of those images, each time I masturbated, it
got a little easier to feel a little less shame and a
little more humor. After all, silly as it all was, it
was not like he'd molested me. Truth is, maybe if he had
approached me back then, I might have even enjoyed it.
Might have? Probably.
It probably would have scared the hell out of me, but
from a sexual standpoint at that point of my life, it
probably would have been terribly exciting.
All the same, I was glad he hadn't. Who knows, maybe
it would have destroyed me.
No, this was much more innocuous, even laughable. GOD!
Mom must be turning over in her grave! I sometimes
thought.
Both Dad and I were just....insane...that was it. A
little crazy.
Insisting that even a 14 month-old could appreciate
it, the next day, Dad took Justin to the zoo. I guess
he was right because Justin had a great time.
And I had an interesting time of my own.
Like the child I had been, trespassing into Dad's
office now equipped with a computer instead of a
typewriter, I spun in his chair, rooting through the
innocent papers in his waste basket and the various
things in his desk.
This all inspired me. Blushing and giggling like I
was playing some girlish game of Spin The Bottle,
writing some love letter to a boy I knew loved me,
going into Word Perfect on the computer, I started
writing.
Only this love letter was much more a story, and much
more...well...
It was about a man and his daughter whose respective
spouses had died and the girl had found some story about
her father and her when she was fourteen and now, she
was just lusting to do the dirty deed, to throw moral
caution to the wind and together do every unthinkably
taboo act a daughter and her father could do!
When I was finished I read it over and though I was
terribly turned on, I erased it.
Gone, thank God...if Dad ever saw it, he'd probably
have a heart attack and die. Although only 42 and
healthy and virile, handsome and happy, everyone has
their limits.
Putting Justin to bed that night, I returned
downstairs just as Dad came out of his office. It
struck me then that there might be a way to retrieve
documents....weren't there people with that sort of
know-how?
Was Dad one of them?
No!! And even if he was, having no idea I'd even used
his computer, why would he be looking? Relieved at
this, I made myself some tea and started reading the
paper.
Dad was flushing the nearby toilet and he came into
the kitchen.
"Write anything?" I asked a bit nervously...out of
guilt I guess.
"No. Actually I was reading. Is this still hot?" he
asked pointing to the kettle.
I nodded and started reading the comics.
"I love these computers," he said and trying not to
tremble, I picked up my tea. GEEZ! You'd think I was ten
and had just broken his model and was hoping he hadn't
found out. "They're idiot proof for old people like me.
If you hit the wrong key and do something stupid,
there's always a way around it."
As he stirred in sugar, the tension in the room did
not belong only to me.
Dad sipped his tea. "Take that Word Perfect program.
I was writing on it once - something for a local paper.
I had been working on it for about an hour and hit the
wrong key and BAM! Gone! I just about put my fist
through the screen!"
Seeing this somehow...very distantly inferring
something ...ghostly ... I asked nervously, "What did
you do?"
"I called Mitch because his son's a technician for the
machines. He told me the program has its own saving
system. If you've been writing and you haven't saved it
for sometime, it just kicks in and saves the writing
into a nameless back-up file."
OH GOD! My heart leapt into my throat as my hand
almost zipped the cup off the counter. I had never been
so terrified in my life!!
"So I turned the machine back on when he called and
started leafing through the files. There it was, a
back-up file! It wasn't the whole thing...but it was
most of it, so I didn't have to start from scratch. I
just had to finish the last few paragraphs."
"Uh...that's...great...it uh..."
His hand went to my wrist and before I could say a
word, Dad pulled me forcefully but not harshly from the
chair, his hand pushing gently at my shoulder.
Terrified and suddenly aroused, I complied without
certainty what was happening, and suddenly, I was on my
knees in front of him, his hands unfastening his pants
excitedly - nervously - and as I watched, in front of
me, his erect penis was there, his hand on the back of
my head drawing me towards it. Guiding it to my lips,
he said, "Suck it Karen...please, darling, suck it!"
As though it had a mind of its own, my mouth opened
willingly, and he slid in, filling me with his forbidden
member. Its taste, the fullness and heat suddenly
excited me beyond reason...
"Oooo....that's it Karen...suck Daddy's cock...."
Referring to himself as `Daddy' struck a chord and
excited me even more. Wrapping my hand around the base
of his cock, I slid up the head of him and then back
down.
"GOD! KAREN! I can't believe this is really
happening...I never thought...it was just so...wrong."
Pulling away nervously, excited at our breach of
morality as I pumped his cock with my fist. I said
breathlessly, "You've wanted me to do this for a long
time, haven't you? Is it good?"
"Mmmmmm....its incredible," he replied, stroking my
hair.
"Am I sucking you good, Daddy...is your little girl
doing it the way you want?" I played with him, enjoying
the role of myself only younger.
"GOD! You're fantastic...." and as his hand pushed me
back down over his cock, I squealed playfully as he
thrust deep into my mouth.
GOD! I could hardly believe this was happening....we
were really nuts!!!
Pantingly, Dad pumped his cock into my mouth. "That's
it baby...suck Daddy's cock....oooooo...yeah...that
feels good....I love watching it go in....love watching
you suck it! Do you like it Karen....is Daddy's cock
good?"
GOD! This whole thing was so filthy and I was loving
it....what was wrong with me??? Oh...who cared!!! I kept
wanting to think....just enjoy it...you know you want
to.
And I did.
Pausing again, pumping him with my fist again, I said
in a girlish voice..."God Daddy....its so big...I like
it how it feels in my mouth....its
so...bad...so....naughty....", then excited by my own
words, I gulped him back down again.
"Mmmmm" Dad moaned. "GOD! I'm going to cum if you keep
doing that....whoa....slow down..."
Withdrawing him, I pumped him with my fist again. "Do
you want to fuck me, Daddy....is that what you want to
do? Want to fuck your little girl..?"
"GOD KAREN! This is so......"
My voice and manner normal, I stopped and looking up
at him, said, "Kinky! But it's what you want, isn't
it?"
"You sure you're fine with it...is it scaring you...I
just don't want to..."
"Dad....I wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't what I
wanted....I know it's weird...but God..I'm just so
turned on... all I want to do...is...enjoy it..." I was
nervous as I said it; aside from my moral fiber which
was still providing that exciting side of `this is
incest...this is wrong...' to the whole episode, most of
me meant it.
With this, Dad took my hand from his cock and used it
to spin me like we were dancing. Putting me on my hands
and knees, I could hear him rooting around for something
in a nearby drawer.
Finding the scissors, in seconds, he had cut a huge
whole in the crotch of my jeans just like in my story and
exploring me feverishly, plunged his finger deep into my
wet crevice. "Dad!!! You're in me... right
inside...ooo...yeah...deeper ....rub me, Daddy..."
Gyrating against him, I moaned as my hands pressed
against the linoleum and as I rocked on Dad's pumping
finger, another finger joined to rub at my clitoris.
"Don't stop," I panted, "Do both...yeah like
that....GOD! Dad! This is incredible....GOD! Fuck
me....I can't wait...fuck me please..."
Dad seemed to have the same feeling of impatience! I
felt his finger slip from me and his cock pushing into
me right away. "GOD! DADDY! Ooooo...that feels good...
all the way...push it in...fuck me, Daddy...." Filling
me and then starting to plunge deeper into me, he
started pushing in, pumping, his powerful hands pulling
my waist so his cock could lunge deep into my grateful,
forbidden crotch. "Yeah...that's it, Daddy...fuck
me...fuck your little girl...fuck her harder...yeah...
fuck me Daddy...ram it right in me..yeah...GOD!....GOD!
FUCK ME DAD! FUCK ME!!"
Enjoying the image of my father fucking me at 14 to 21
back to 14 as he fucked me, I was screaming and shouting
as my excitement built. It was incredible! I knew how
filthy the whole thing was...this was not like either of
us...we weren't like that...but somehow... It was just
so unbelievably erotic, and in spite of all else...
physically...sexually...it was just great sex!!
Dad panted as he kept pounding into me. "How about my
fucking you up the ass..." The thought had never been
arousing to me before but I had read it in his story.
How when I was younger, he'd really had a thing for my
ass, how much he'd wanted that part of his fantasy. By
now, I realized how erotic it was and..."Yeah....fuck me
up the ass now," I said.
Dad withdrew anxiously and poised his cock at my
crevice. Feeling him there and suddenly, it aroused me
much more. My body bracing against the intrusion, his
cock pushed into me as I gasped for air and reconsidered
this invasion.
"Do you want me to stop?" Dad asked, concerned.
No. Yes. No. Yes.
"Might as well go all the way," I gasped...but hurry,"
I panted.
Dad pushed hard then and my throat releasing against
the pleasurable pain, I groaned as his cock slid
completely into me and then started pumping.
By now, the pain was subsiding and the feel and
thought of my Dad fucking my ass was just delicious.
God, it was incredible! Once the pain was gone - (and
there was still a twinge of it here and there) - the
feel of him filling me like that while his hand rubbed
my clit just drove me crazy. Hair flailing, I started
rocking, my hands red against the linoleum as he rammed
into me again and again.
GOD! If this was incest and immoral...fine...but how
was I not supposed to love it??!! Being ass-fucked
while Dad rubbed me that way, I thought I was going to
absolutely die from pleasure...and of course, that it
was my Dad, and we both wanted it and it was wrong, and
we were such moral people....normally....this was just
like some wild roller coaster ride into a sexual
DisneyWorld of depravity!
"You like that...don't you," he was panting. "God
Karen...you're really into this...do you want me to
cum...I have to stop now if you want me to wait."
I wanted him to cum inside me all right, but knowing
at his age, Dad might not have the stamina to cum twice
let alone three times, I begrudgingly told him to stop.
Dad's withdrawal was pleasurable but saddening in a
way. I had never done this before and it had been
incredible!! But as he picked me up by the waist and
sat me on the counter, I was not disappointed for long.
From the hole he had made, down my thighs, his hands
tore my jeans right off and into shards on the floor so
that only the areas around my waist remained. What was
left of my panties went too, and he bit into my crotch,
his hand on my thighs as he hoisted them over his
shoulders plunge his tongue into my forbidden flesh.
"God!" I gasped and panting, never before imagining
anything so lewd and exciting, watched wide-eyed as he
covered my crotch with his mouth. Shoving his tongue
into it, as I braced backwards against the counter-top
and arched my back to get closer to him, he licked my
insides. Bucking and whimpering, I was caught up in a
tidal wave of pleasure as he sucked on me, my hips
shivering and gyrating, my thighs heightening as he
licked at my clit, thrusting his tongue into me again
and again. I could feel the whole current in my hips
and pelvis come at me as I watched him feverishly suck
on me and I threw my head back and howled. "GOD! DAD!
I'M GOING TO CUM!!!. DAD!! YEAH!! DAD!" My whole body
shook and my hips were bucking wildly as I had the most
exciting orgasm I have ever had. I kept whimpering as
he brought me through it....
"GOD!" I panted as my legs slid from his shoulders.
Dad pulled me off the counter and down into a kneeling
position in front of him. His hands pushed me over his
cock and feeling excited at the thought of bringing him
to climax, I started bobbing fiercely, not the least bit
concerned with my nudity or my knees or my aching
neck...
"GOD Karen!...suck me off GOD! Suck my cock...yeah..."
I didn't need this encouragement but it certainly
helped. I was eager now for the inevitable portion of
this ....swallowing Dad's sperm. I had never done it to
Greg and I still was not fond of the taste but I was
going to savor this, only because it was the cherry on
this sundae of taboo. Swallowing my Dad's cum!
I didn't have to wait long. After another minute or
so, Dad panted, "Oh GOD! Yeah...I'm cumming..." and
eagerly, to leave as much room as possible, I went up to
the tip of his cock to catch a mouthful of forbidden
semen.
It spurted into my mouth onto my tongue and savoring
the smooth thick heat, swallowed it as two more spurts
erupted into my mouth.
"Oh GOD!" he panted. "Swallow it baby....swallow
Daddy's cum!!"
Dad was obviously excitedly-surprised by my
enthusiasm. Three more spurts squirted out onto my
tongue and I swallowed them, relishing the sensation and
taste.
BUT GOD! It was just the whole thought....my Dad's
cock...my Dad's cum...it was just all so....nasty.
Licking my lips as the final dribbles of semen went
down my throat, I withdrew, pumping Dad's cock as I
leaned back on my haunches.
Justin was crying in the monitor.
"I better get that," I said softly.
Dad nodded.
THE END
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 13