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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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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