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Eight Simple Rules For Seducing Your Teenage Daughter
by Your Ghost (address withheld)

***

Paul Hennessey of "8 Simple Rules For Dating My Teenage 
Daughter" offers a guide on how to make your 
relationship with your daughter much more special. 
(M/f-teen, ped, inc, oral, parody)

***

NOTE: this is a parody of a TV show, written solely to 
entertain the reader; it is not a guide for seducing 
your (or anyone else's) daughter, so please, don't try 
this at home.

***

I know what you're thinking. Paul Hennessey is such a 
good guy, such a friendly neighbor, such a kind and 
loving husband and father, so wholesome and upright. 
I'm the last guy you'd expect to seduce his own 
daughter. And believe me, for most of my life I was 
that guy. I didn't even think about doing anything out 
of line, whether it regarded my daughter or anything 
else. But people change, they grow older, they 
experience things they never thought they would, they 
feel things they never imagined they could feel. This 
was the case with me, beginning about five years ago, 
when my daughter Bridget turned twelve.

Of course, it wasn't the fact that she was twelve that 
made me see her in a new (and startling) light, but the 
fact that she too was changing, growing breasts, and 
taking on a more womanly shape. Becoming a beautiful 
young woman before my very eyes. And being her father 
didn't make me incapable of noticing. 

If anything, I noticed the changes taking place in my 
daughter more than other men (or boys) because I saw 
her every day, I kept a close eye on her, I even 
studied her in a way. Because she was my child, and the 
way she developed forced me to not only see her 
differently, but myself as well. I know that might seem 
strange to some people, but if you're a father, you 
know what I'm talking about.

You not only see the physical changes, but the way 
those changes will affect people. You know that when 
men (and boys) look at her, they'll be seeing the 
sexual object. Imagining her with her clothes off. 
Imagining taking her to bed and making love to her. You 
begin to see your little Angel as a girl men want, as a 
lover, even a seductress. You too undress her with your 
eyes.

And don't tell me you don't. I know it's socially 
expected to say that you never have even the slightest 
thought about your daughter in a sexual way, but my 
theory is that the majority of fathers (and not a small 
majority; my estimate is about ninety percent) do have 
sexual thoughts and feelings about their daughters. And 
the majority of those fathers take it further, 
entertaining explicit sexual fantasies about them. 

I also believe that the statistics that say that 
approximately twenty percent of all women experience 
some form of sexual contact with their fathers is also 
conservative; I would put it closer to fifty, maybe 
sixty percent. Incest is more alive and well in this 
world than we want to admit.

But you don't want to read about statistics. You want 
to know what I did to my daughter. Probably even more 
than that, you want to know how I did what I did, so 
that you could do the same thing. I know, believe me. 
That's the whole reason I'm writing all of this down. 
It's not some smarmy, weak-willed confession designed 
to convince anyone that I'm sorry for what I did. I 
have a little more self-respect than that.

No, what this is, is a guide, if you will. I've 
developed these rules, you see, eight of them, that, if 
you follow them closely, will help you to accomplish 
the same thing with your own daughter that I managed to 
do with mine. You should note, though, that one rule 
isn't more important than another, and that it's 
essential for you to read through each rule and its 
explanation thoroughly, and make sure you understand 
them, before you begin any seduction project.

I've also included my particular story, set as 
examples, so that you can see how my rules were applied 
in a real life setting.

And now for the rules.

*****

Rule Number 1: Make Sure She's Well Groomed.

No endeavor begins without the imagination. Nothing in 
the history of human existence has ever been created, 
built, improved, or even destroyed without someone 
being able to see the end result in his or her mind 
beforehand. And no daughter has ever been molested by 
accident.

All incestuous fathers everywhere spent a good deal of 
time fantasizing about their daughters before they 
managed to gather the courage (or get drunk enough) to 
put their dreams into action. And the ones who were 
most successful were the ones who had a plan. They 
didn't just jump on their girls and have their way with 
them; they prepared them ahead of time. They groomed 
them psychologically and emotionally, doing their best 
to make sure their little Pumpkins were as ready as 
possible to accept (or at least tolerate) their 
fathers' advances.

There are many things you can (and should) do to get 
your daughter ready for you, but because most of them 
need to be done on a regular basis throughout the 
relationship, and will therefore be explored in later 
rules, I'm only going to focus on a few of them right 
here at the beginning.

Now, I know this will sound odd to you, and even 
counterproductive, but the first thing you need to do 
when preparing to have sex with your daughter is WAIT. 
Bide your time. The whole point of grooming is to set 
the table for the incestuous feast, and this will 
require patience and self-control more than anything 
else.

Waiting, however, doesn't mean doing nothing. While 
you're waiting you can take the steps necessary to get 
your little Kitten in the right frame of mind. And to 
do this, you need to foster a positive, loving 
relationship with her. Teach her as early as possible, 
from the day she's born, to love, trust and depend on 
you. Give her regular hugs and kisses, tell her every 
day how much you love her, read her a story and tuck 
her in at night, chase away the monsters from under her 
bed, bandage her boo boos, and reward her when she's 
been good. In other words, be a good father. You'll be 
glad you did, even if you never do anything about your 
desires.

Having said all that, I can tell you that I myself was 
a pretty good father to my little Bridget. Of course, I 
was a good father to all three of my children, but it 
was obvious to everyone that she was my favorite. From 
the moment she was born I doted on her, held her and 
cuddled her and cooed to her, and as she grew I did 
everything I could to make her a happy girl and to let 
her know how much I adored her.

I spoiled her, actually, and to be honest this is not 
something I would recommend to all you aspiring 
daughter molesters. Because if you teach your daughter 
that she can have anything she wants from you and all 
she has to do to get it is bat her eyes at you, and she 
knows that no matter how badly she behaves she won't be 
receiving punishment from her daddy, that could spell 
trouble later on. 

In other words, you should balance your fathering, 
discipline her when she needs to be disciplined. I did 
spank Bridget on occasion when she was little, but I 
just didn't have the heart for it, and eventually left 
that kind of thing for her mother to do. I think the 
last time I spanked her was when she was six or seven, 
and even then it was a halfhearted effort which did 
nothing to get her to behave herself. I wouldn't mind 
spanking her now, though; just take her over my knee 
and lay a few stern loving whacks onto that sweet round 
bottom of hers.

But I'm getting sidetracked. My point is that as 
Bridget was growing up I was laying the foundations for 
a good close relationship with her, developing an 
emotional bond that would serve me well when the time 
came to make the drastic changes in our father daughter 
relationship that I would make.

But I'd like to point out right here, before I go onto 
the next rule, that in those days I had no intentions 
of having sex with my daughter. I know this contradicts 
what I said earlier about fathers denying any sexual 
interest in their little girls, but honestly, I didn't 
even think about it. To me, Bridget was just this 
beautiful little child that instilled in me the most 
intense love and pride. 

I couldn't have hurt her if I'd tried, and maybe that's 
the point of this paragraph; an incestuous father is 
always more successful when he knows and understands 
that his wish isn't to bring any harm or unhappiness to 
his daughter's life. He wants to love her, to give her 
pleasure, to know the unequaled tenderness and joy of 
an incestuous relationship with daddy. If you're 
working out some past pains of your own, taking it out 
on her, then you're not only misguided, in my opinion, 
but you're bound to fail.

And now just one final point: I mentioned earlier that 
I have three children. Bridget is the oldest (she's 
seventeen now), Carrie is the second oldest (sixteen), 
and Brandon, my son (fourteen), is the youngest. I 
didn't do anything sexual with Brandon because he's a 
boy, and the sexual contact I had with Carrie was 
extremely limited. In fact, all I ever did with her was 
cop a feel of her breasts when she was fifteen years 
old (her tits aren't as large and round as Bridget's, 
but they're still very nice). 

There were several reasons why I never did anything 
more than that. For one thing, I simply didn't feel the 
same romantic and sexual attraction to her as I did 
Bridget. Carrie is a beautiful young girl in her own 
right, but Bridget has always been the one to capture 
every area of my imagination. For another, I also knew 
from experience that Carrie was less likely to put up 
with any sexual advances from me because she has a more 
serious and inflexible personality than her older 
sister. Also, I'm pretty certain that she prefers 
girls. My wife would have a better shot at her than I 
would.

Those of you who have more than one child may want to 
try to develop this kind of discernment for yourself. 
Make sure that if you're going to become sexual with 
your kid, you pick the right one. Otherwise, disaster 
might ensue and you won't need to bother with any of 
these other rules.

*****

Rule Number 2: Start Out Small

Begin your incestuous seduction of your little Princess 
by taking baby steps. Like any romantic and/or sexual 
relationship, you don't want to rush things. Again, 
patience and self-control are the keys. You might begin 
by elaborating on the fatherly hugs and kisses you 
already enjoy with your daughter, making them longer, 
slightly more intimate. Or when you're giving her the 
fatherly and nonsexual caresses you've gotten her used 
to over the years, you can let your hands venture to 
areas of her body that you've only so far fantasized 
touching (my recommendation is to begin with the 
breasts, not the cunt; always a less threatening area 
for your daughter, and if she complains, it's much 
easier to pass off as an accident). 

Another thing you can do is slowly "adultize" your 
conversations with her, introducing sexual subjects 
like masturbation and intercourse. This, by the way, is 
a good reason to wait until your daughter has hit 
puberty, because it will not only be appropriate for 
you to teach her about these subjects, but the little 
minx might even bring them up herself. In any case, 
keep your conversations with her on a subdued level, 
making it seem like you're simply trying to learn how 
much she knows about sex or what she thinks about it.

However you begin, remember that you MUST start out 
small; avoid being too abrupt, too aggressive, too 
invasive of her privacy (no barging in on her when 
she's in the shower or changing clothes in her bedroom, 
and don't start out your "sex talk" by showing her porn 
videos). 

Any kisses you give her can only go slightly over the 
boundaries (no french-kissing), and your hands, while 
they might travel into previously unexplored areas, 
must always stay outside of her clothes. I know it 
won't be easy, especially when you've got two luscious 
and fairly new breasts resting in your eager palms, but 
just be a man and suck it up. The patience and self-
control (I can't say those words enough) you exercise 
now will pay off later.

By the time my Bridget was twelve she'd already grown 
good sized breasts and a remarkably womanly shape. I 
couldn't believe my eyes, nor could I believe the 
things I was thinking and feeling. I'd never been 
attracted to girls that young, and I'm still not, but 
Bridget was different. She was my little girl in the 
process of becoming a woman, and the more she matured 
the more room she took up in my thoughts. 

I might also add that at this stage of her development 
Bridget decided that any kind of physical contact with 
me, intimate or otherwise, was completely out of the 
question (her term was "creepy"), and that not only 
left me devastated as a loving father but very probably 
contributed to the strange new ideas I was having about 
her. A woman knows, even at that age, that the best way 
to attract a man is to let him know he can't have her.

At any rate, I found myself with a surprising and (at 
first) troubling attraction to her. I was constantly 
looking her over, admiring her growing beauty, her 
splendid blonde hair, studying the various shapes that 
made up her young body, imagining what those particular 
shapes would look like without the benefit of clothes, 
and imagining too what they would feel like in my 
hands. What her whole body would feel like in my arms 
as I slowly and gently pushed my cock into her. I very 
quickly came to understand how men could bring 
themselves to molest such young girls, if not exactly 
the why.

For a long time I practiced rule number one; I waited. 
I didn't take immediate action. Because I knew, 
probably on some instinctive level, that while I'd done 
a good job of winning my daughter's love and trust, 
they had to be strengthened, conditioned over time, if 
I was to successfully seduce this sudden nymph in my 
house. In the meantime, I did a few small things that 
allowed me to surreptitiously and vicariously make 
sexual contact with her.

You might want to hold onto your hats here, because 
some of the things I did might seem rather bizarre to 
you.

I fantasized about her as I was making love to my wife, 
of course (just about every lustful father does, 
doesn't he?), and I stole a pair of her panties and one 
of her bras and used them to masturbate with. There 
were also the few times when I did "accidentally" walk 
in on her in the shower or enter her room without 
knocking, but they were few and far between, and not 
really as satisfying as you might think. Probably 
because it's such typical behavior. Uninspired. The 
most satisfying things I did were, as mentioned above, 
the more bizarre things.

Bridget was (and still is) somewhat spoiled and 
selfish, and she had to have her own shampoos and soaps 
and towels in the bathroom. She even had her own little 
cabinet between the toilet and the sink where she kept 
all that stuff, which was convenient for me, because 
that way I could put some of my come in her shampoo 
without worrying that any of the other people in my 
family might use it. 

Yes, I did that. Put a good healthy dollop of my come 
in her shampoo. Actually, I did it many times over a 
period of five years, and nearly every time she was in 
the shower I imagined she was rubbing the stuff into 
her hair, and then letting it slide down over her body 
when she rinsed. Very erotic, and I never got tired of 
it.

I did a few other things, like masturbating with her 
bar of soap, and cutting pictures out of hardcore porn 
magazines and sticking them in the library books she'd 
just brought home (this should be done with the utmost 
care, because she might have already looked through the 
book). 

But the worst thing I ever did, something I actually 
regret, was the time when she was fourteen and I made 
her a ham sandwich, and after spreading the mayo on the 
bread I quickly jerked off and spread my come on the 
bread with it. She ate the whole sandwich, but then she 
threw it all up afterward. I got a huge kick out of 
knowing that my daughter had my come in her mouth and 
then had swallowed it, but I never repeated that 
particular trick.

The first real sexual contact I made with Bridget was 
when she was fifteen. It was summer, and as most girls 
will, she was wearing much less than she usually did; 
in this case it was a very snug pair of denim shorts 
and a bikini top, bright yellow, to match her hair. 
She'd developed a good tan, and her skin was a smooth 
enchanting bronze. She looked like a golden goddess 
freshly arrived from Mount Olympus, and as great as my 
patience and self-control were, I'd finally reached 
that point where I couldn't resist her anymore.

No, I didn't just walk up and grab her tits. Steady 
now.

It was just before dinner, and my wife and son were 
working in the kitchen (he isn't gay, he just likes to 
cook; I imagine he'll grown up to be a very manly 
chef), and Carrie hadn't yet arrived home from an 
outing with friends, which left Bridget by herself up 
in her room. And me with idle, yet ambitious, hands.

I actually had a valid reason for knocking on her door; 
she still had the car keys (she was just learning how 
to drive) and I wanted to make sure I got them back. I 
almost forgot what I'd come up for, though, after she 
called for me to come in and I opened her door and saw 
her standing in front of her full length mirror, 
dressed in the above mentioned outfit.

"Um, hi sweetheart," I said, taking her in from head to 
toe, then focusing on her bikini top and the luscious 
items resting inside. I probably should have continued 
speaking but I was too distracted.

"Hi, Dad," Bridget replied. She glanced at me, then 
went back to looking at herself. After several 
heartbeats she must have noticed the stunned silence, 
because she turned to look at me again. "Did you want 
something?"

She had no idea how loaded that question was.

"Yes, um, my um... car keys?"

Bridget nodded at the top of her dresser and said, 
"Over there," then returned to studying herself in the 
mirror.

I went over to the dresser and picked up the keys, 
shoved them in my pocket, then just stood there looking 
at my daughter. I marveled at her brilliant blonde 
hair, her full round breasts, her smooth flat belly, 
her sleek back and round butt, her long perfect legs, 
and not for the first time forgave her for her vanity. 
She was a truly gorgeous creature.

"Dad, you're staring," she said.

I blinked, somewhat startled back into focus, but not 
embarrassed; there was something in Bridget's voice 
that told me I didn't have to be. As if she didn't mind 
that her own father was ogling her.

"I think," I said, "that you're the most beautiful girl 
I've ever seen in my life, Bridget."

Bridget gave me a fabulous smile and said, "Thank you, 
Dad. Normally, when I'm wearing something like this 
you'd tell me to put some clothes on and lock myself in 
my room."

"Which reminds me: put some clothes on and lock 
yourself in your room."
"Sure, Dad. And right after I do that, I'll start 
studying to become a nun."

"Actually," I said. "You really should put a little 
more on. Dinner's almost ready, and I don't think it 
would be such a good idea to be dressed like that in 
front of your little brother. You know how sex hungry 
boys are."

"Yeah, right," Bridget replied with a giggle. "Like 
he's the only sex hungry boy in the house."

My little girl might not have been the sharpest knife 
in the drawer, but she sure had my number. Or at least 
I thought she did. I took her flirtatious remark a 
little more seriously than she meant it. More 
accurately, I took it as a cue to begin the next phase 
of my seduction of her. I went up behind her (the girl 
could stare at herself for hours) and put my arms 
around her, a relatively normal gesture in our 
relationship, but then I kissed her shoulder and, as if 
it was the most natural thing in the world, I slipped 
my hands up over her breasts.

Bridget seemed to freeze for a moment, then said, "Dad? 
What are you doing?"

Now, when you're holding your daughter's breasts in 
your hands, there's no real correct answer to that 
question. You can't say, "Nothing," because that's 
obviously a lie; and yet, if you try to explain, even 
in the most tender and romantic language, chances are 
your little Buttercup isn't going to believe it. 

A rational and logical explanation won't help, either, 
even if you're convinced (as I am) that fondling your 
daughter's breasts is an entirely rational and logical 
act for a father. And it's useless (as well as 
spineless, in my opinion) to try to offer excuses or 
apologies. The best response in such a situation is no 
response; don't say anything, and don't take your hands 
away. Those actions will only confirm your daughter's 
suspicions that your behavior isn't appropriate.

That's what I did. I just left my hands right where 
they were, enjoying themselves under the soft firm 
weight of Bridget's breasts, and let my silence speak 
for itself. And Bridget, preoccupied with trying to 
process and make sense of this new information in her 
life, simply looked down at her breasts, watching me 
gently squeeze them, and offered up no further 
questions.

I fondled her for maybe ten, fifteen seconds, and I'm 
telling you, it was the most wonderful fifteen seconds 
of my entire life. Nothing, not even the eventual 
reward of sexual intercourse, can match that very first 
meeting of your own two hands and your daughter's 
breasts. That first, magical introduction to the world 
of father daughter incest. Even if I had never done any 
more than that one thing, I would have been a very 
satisfied father.

But of course, like all other magnificent things, my 
first sexual contact with my Bridget had to end. I 
moved my hands from her breasts up to her shoulders, 
turned her around (gently; always gently), gave her a 
fatherly kiss on the nose, and said, "I love you, 
sweetheart."

"I love you too, Dad," Bridget replied, her voice a 
mixture of genuine love and confusion.

"I know you do. Now, do like I said and put a little 
more on, okay?"

I gave her another peck on the nose, then left her 
room, feeling like a completely new man.

And that, really, should be the limit of your own 
initial contact with your little Munchkin, a little 
fondling, a few loving kisses, and be sure to remind 
her that you love her. Anything more than that, really, 
and you're probably going to derail your whole program. 
Patience and self-control.

*****

Rule Number 3: Go Slowly But Surely

Once you've crossed the boundary into the land of 
incest, you might be tempted to just sprint for the 
goal line. An understandable temptation, believe me, 
but you must remember that one of your goals is to 
enjoy your new relationship with your daughter for more 
than just a few hours or days before the cops come 
knocking at your door. You want it to last for as long 
as possible, if not permanently. Therefore, you will 
want to proceed slowly, continue with the baby steps. 
Rape is not an option here (actually, it never is). I 
suggest more episodes of fondling for maybe a week or 
two, an intimate kiss on occasion, and of course 
continue to romance her, flirt with her and buy her 
little presents. 

The good news is that while you won't be going very 
fast, you will at least be moving forward. The fondling 
can progress from over the clothes to under the 
clothes, inside the bra and down into the panties. You 
might even dare to sneak a finger a little way into her 
cunt, or play with her nipples or her clit. If you do 
this, your daughter might exhibit a pleasurable 
response, which, naturally, you'll want to encourage. 
But you should at the same time continued to maintain 
your patience and self-control; just because she's 
coming her brains out doesn't mean it's okay to bull 
your way through her china shop. Your little Chipmunk 
will need time to get used to the changes occurring in 
her life, and she will look to you to guide her on her 
way, to teach her how to cope.

My darling Bridget was an outstanding student. She was 
docile and compliant, if not completely enthused about 
her new course of instruction. She asked that "What are 
you doing?" question two more times before she must 
have realized that I wasn't going to answer it. After 
that she attempted to avoid being alone with me, but I 
was persistent and crafty, and she was a fast learner. 
I spent an entire month doing nothing more than kissing 
her when I did manage to get her alone, feeling her up 
whenever I had the opportunity, and always outside of 
her clothes.

As the second month began, however, I turned it up a 
notch or two. I started french-kissing her, and as 
mentioned above, I went inside, sneaking my hand up 
under her bra to hold and caress her breasts skin to 
skin. Bridget tolerated these advances, and even seemed 
to respond a little to the french-kissing, especially 
if I was tweaking her nipples at the same time. 

I also noticed that, the more I did with her, the more 
she seemed to accept it, if not as a natural activity 
between father and daughter, then at least as a 
normally recurring event that she would have to get 
used to. She quit squirming and trying to get away from 
me, anyway. My patience and self-control were paying 
off.

I should rename this guide, "How To Have Patience and 
Self-Control While Seducing Your Teenage Daughter."

Just kidding.
 
*****

Rule Number 4: Make Her Hate Her Mother

I'm not really happy with the title of this rule. The 
words "make" and "hate" are a little too strong, but I 
couldn't come up with any other title that wasn't long-
winded, silly, or both. Besides, it fits well with the 
title of rule number five, which is succinct and to the 
point.

Anyway: what you really want to do isn't to make your 
daughter hate her mother (although if she reaches that 
emotional state on her own, it can't hurt), you simply 
want to disrupt their relationship, create distance 
between them, so that your little Biscuit won't feel 
comfortable with the idea of telling Mommy about Daddy. 

You can also do this if your daughter has siblings, 
although I personally wouldn't go that whole "divide 
and conquer" route. Many incestuous fathers like to 
isolate their little girls as much as possible, even 
separating them from their friends, and while that may 
be an effective tactic, it doesn't make your daughter a 
very happy person. She's dealing with enough problems 
as it is.

Driving a wedge between her and her mother, however, is 
essential, and it can and should be done in tandem with 
the other rules.

There are several strategies you can employ here. The 
most important one, of course, is the one you've been 
using all along, the strong loving bond you and your 
daughter have shared ever since she came rocketing out 
of your wife's vagina. If you've done a good job in 
this area, the other strategies will be much easier to 
apply.

Another strategy is to take her side in the inevitable 
mother daughter squabbles. When Baby Bear wants to go 
to a concert instead of going out to dinner with the 
family, or she wants to get something other than her 
ears pierced, or she wants to borrow the family car, or 
whatever other disagreement arises between your little 
girl and your ball and chain, you can jump right in and 
defend your daughter's choice. You can argue that she's 
growing up, she needs to be given more responsibility, 
needs to be allowed more freedom. 

This might not sound like the kind of thing a typical 
father would say, and who knows, maybe it isn't, but 
your wife will see your point, because she was once 
that demanding little teenage brat who wanted to do 
things she wasn't allowed to do. And even if the wife 
doesn't come around, that's okay, because your daughter 
will be noticing and appreciating the fact that you are 
so often in her corner.

You don't always have to take her side, of course, and 
there are times when you shouldn't. Like when she wants 
to date that longhaired pierced-nosed freak she calls a 
boyfriend, or when she wants to go to a party at a 
college boy's house while his parents are out of town, 
or when she wants to wear the absolutely sluttiest 
outfit you've ever seen in your life, or wants to go to 
school without a bra just to make a point. 

Admittedly, those last two are tempting, but while 
you're trying to get into your daughter's best graces, 
you can't afford to be unbelievable. A good father puts 
a stop to those things.

There is one more thing that I can think of that will 
make that rift between Mom and your little Doodlebug 
wider, but you should proceed with caution in this 
area: birth control pills.

I'll tell you what I did when this subject came up in 
my own house. Bridget was fifteen at the time, and she 
had come home one day from school and, when she dropped 
her backpack onto the sofa instead of taking it up to 
her room like she'd been told to countless times, a 
package of condoms fell out. She tried to grab them up 
before we saw them, but we were her parents, which 
meant we probably saw them fall out before she did. 

We were outraged, of course, just like any good parents 
would be. After all, condoms lead to sex, which leads 
to indiscriminate sex, which leads to social disease 
and unwanted pregnancy (condoms aren't effective one 
hundred percent of the time), drug use and crime, even 
prostitution. Before we knew it our little Pookie would 
be in prison, fighting off sexually aggressive guards 
and getting raped with broomsticks in the shower by her 
inmates.

Bridget actually had a fairly decent reason for 
carrying condoms around in her purse: she was, she 
declared, a responsible young woman now, and though she 
wasn't actually having sex, and didn't intend to have 
sex in the near future, she had decided that it would 
be wise to have at least some form of birth control 
with her at all times, because you never know when the 
right person and the right moment might come along. 
Okay, it wasn't the best reason in the world, but it 
showed that Bridget wasn't exactly in a hand-basket 
barreling down the road to hell.

Nonetheless, we informed our darling delinquent about 
the pitfalls of her reckless behavior, at the top of 
our lungs. Or, more accurately (and here's the trick), 
I let my wife inform our daughter about the 
consequences of her behavior (at the top of her lungs) 
while I stood there with my arms crossed and didn't say 
a word. With this tactic I managed to make my wife 
think that I was supporting her, and at the same time 
supplied the proper negative images for Bridget to stew 
about later on; when she recalled this encounter in the 
future she would remember her mother yelling at her, 
but not me. That was the first phase of the plan.

The second phase came later, when I had each of them 
alone. I talked to my wife first, listening to her 
complain and rant and rave, and responding to her with 
calm soothing tones, telling her that I knew how she 
felt, that I was just as concerned as she was, and that 
I would go and talk to Bridget myself and get her 
straightened out. Then I went to Bridget. I let her 
complain and rant and rave, and I was calm and 
soothing, but I didn't support my wife's argument. 
Instead, I complained about her too, how controlling 
she was, how demanding, petty and selfish and what have 
you. 

In other words, I let my daughter know that I resented 
Kate just as much as she did, and I didn't understand 
at all why she wouldn't let her obviously responsible 
daughter keep condoms in her backpack. This helped to 
strengthen the bond of trust that I'd already developed 
between us, and it instilled in Bridget that necessary 
sense of partnership with me, a mutually supportive 
stance against the evil wife and mother, an esprit de 
famile, if you will.

Then I told her she couldn't keep the condoms. As 
expected, the volatile little brat exploded, shouting 
and waving her arms and stomping her feet (causing her 
magnificent breasts to jiggle in a remarkably charming 
way), but I was ready for that. I had a plan, I 
explained, that would resolve this entire problem. I 
told her that if she got rid of the condoms (and made 
sure that her mother saw her doing so) I would take her 
to the doctor myself and get her a prescription for 
birth control pills, and her mother wouldn't have to 
know anything about it. 

This idea appealed to my devious daughter, and she went 
right down to the living room with me and, in front of 
her mother, tossed the condoms in the trash can. Two 
days later I took her to the doctor and got her put on 
the pill, and from that day on Bridget and I shared a 
defiant little secret that bonded us in a way that very 
few other things could.

It was just over a month later that the pills began to 
be effective, and I began to molest her.

*****

Rule Number 4: Make Her Love You

Now you can see what I meant when I said that the 
wording of rule number four fits with rule number five. 
And with this particular rule, the word "make" is a bit 
more appropriate, and certainly the word "love" is 
entirely accurate.

But enough with semantics.

It is essential to get your daughter to love you, and I 
don't mean the natural kind of love that any daughter 
will feel for her father, or even the romantic (and 
also natural) type that is common in most father 
daughter relationships. What you must do is get your 
daughter to FALL IN love with you, the way she might 
fall in love with a rock star or a movie star or that 
longhaired loser with the motorcycle, the tattoos, and 
the criminal record.

This won't be easy, but if you've prepared her well, it 
won't be impossible. And, as with all the other rules, 
there are things you should do and things you shouldn't 
do.

Naturally, the things you should do are the simpler 
ones. Buying her gifts tops the list, because we all 
know how teenage girls (and adult women, for that 
matter) love gifts. Clothes, jewelry, CDs, expensive 
electronics, a car if you can afford it. You can take 
her dancing, or to nice restaurants for father daughter 
dinners, to the movies, to the local amusement park, to 
the mall (her favorite place on earth), or to less 
costly places like the beach or the park. Anything that 
will put a smile on her face and make her appreciate 
what a great dad she has, and at the same time allow 
you to be alone with her so you can molest her.

Some of the things you shouldn't do is take her to 
hotel rooms (or motel rooms; even a bigger mistake), 
take her with you on your business trips out of town, 
take her to a buddy's make out pad (for those of you 
still living in the 60s), or any place that's going to 
make her feel cheap and used.

Don't beg her for sex.

Don't criticize her looks, even if she looks awful.

Don't tell her she reminds you of her mother. Or your 
mother. Or any other woman in the world (these rules 
actually apply to all women).

And while you're doing (or not doing) the above 
mentioned things, you must, repeat must, romance her. 
Treat her like a queen. Treat her like you treated your 
wife back when you were both young and you were trying 
desperately to get in her pants. Tell her over and over 
again how beautiful she is, how much you love her and 
cherish her, how sweet and wonderful she is, how 
there's no one in the world you love more. You can even 
tell her that she's the ONLY one you love, especially 
if you've got rule number four working really well.

Most of all you need to be in love with your daughter. 
This is an iron clad rule, and if you can't meet this 
requirement (be honest), you have no business seducing 
your little Peanut. Leave her alone. Get off of her and 
go find a call girl that resembles her.

I can without reservation claim that I was head over 
heels for Bridget from the moment I first saw her come 
into the world. She was the most beautiful, most 
perfect little thing I'd ever seen, a tiny miracle that 
I had helped to bring about. And my feelings for her 
only grew over the years, as she grew, from a baby to a 
toddler to a child, then to an adolescent, and finally 
to the young gorgeous woman she became. 

There were so many incredible moments of having fun 
with her, teaching her, even scolding her. But the best 
moments were the quiet ones, when I would sit with her 
on my lap (or next to me, when she supposedly got too 
big for my lap), just holding her and touching her hair 
and enjoying the sometimes intense and always flawless 
love that can only be found between father and 
daughter. Even having sex with her came in second.

A goddamned close second, but still second.

The first truly sexual contact with her, beyond just 
feeling her up and sticking my finger in her cunt, 
occurred shortly after she turned sixteen. It was an 
almost perfect Spring day, as I recall, with sunshine 
and a cool breeze and the woman I was married to 
nowhere in sight. She was working or something, I 
really don't remember now. Carrie was still at school, 
at one of her geek club meetings (or possibly at a gay 
rights rally), and Rory was off with that girl he was 
crazy about, Misty. Lovely little thing, that girl was. 
Sweet smile, nice tits.

Anyway, it was just me and Bridget at home. I was in my 
office, working on my latest column. I had just 
finished it, in fact, and was now ready to go find 
Bridget for a little father daughter alone time. I 
closed out the programs on my computer and stood up 
from my chair, and I as I turned to go I suddenly 
stopped short, surprised to see Bridget in the doorway. 
It was still morning, so she was, as usual, still 
wearing her nightclothes; peejay bottoms and a nicely 
snug tank-top. Her bright blonde hair was a wild mop on 
her head.

"Well, hello there, sweetheart," I said.

"Hi, Dad," Bridget replied. "Whatcha doin?"

"I was working, but I'm stopping for a break. What are 
you doing up so early?" It was only a few minutes past 
eleven.

Bridget shrugged and said, "I dunno. I'm bored. 
Sleeping is boring."

She came further into the room and I held my arms out 
to her. Bridget came right to me and embraced me, just 
as I'd trained her to do, and I gave her a kiss on the 
forehead. I hugged her tight and she wrapped her arms 
around my neck. We stood there like that, just holding 
each other for a while, not saying anything, just 
enjoying our closeness. 

My daughter seemed small and fragile in my arms, and 
yet with her firm breasts pressed against my chest and 
her smooth belly against my growing erection, she 
seemed alive and vibrant at the same time. I touched 
and caressed her, letting my hands roam up and down her 
back, and over her ass, before I slipped them up under 
tank-top. I fondled her breasts and played with her 
nipples, pleased to feel them growing hard under my 
fingers. Bridget even pressed her body closer to me, 
and rested her head against my neck. 

If I'd had any doubts before that she was getting 
something out of our special relationship, those doubts 
were gone now. It was that realization, along with the 
sweet scent of shampoo in her hair (shampoo that I had 
doctored with my own come), that led me to take the 
next step. I let go of her and took a step back, then 
in a low secretive voice, said, "Take your top off."

I expected her to offer at least some kind of 
resistance, but Bridget, while she seemed a teeny bit 
reluctant, immediately complied, grasping the bottom of 
her tank-top and pulling it up over her head. She 
dropped it onto the floor, then stood there with 
downcast eyes, her hands clasped together in front of 
her, and her breasts now in full view.

"Wow," was all I could say. My daughter has the most 
magnificent breasts I've ever seen. I reached out and 
touched them, fondled them some more, luxuriating in 
their weight, their warmth and firmness, the hardness 
of her little pink nipples. I kissed Bridget on the 
lips, then ducked my head and kissed each of her 
breasts. I took her nipples into my mouth and sucked on 
them, and as I did so I felt my daughter's hands moving 
over my back and shoulders. I heard her take in a sharp 
breath when I nibbled one of her nipples, and I knew I 
was moving in the right direction.

As I nibbled and sucked on Bridget's breasts, I slid 
one of my hands down over her belly and down into her 
peejays. I moved my fingers through her pubic hair, 
found the lips of her cunt, and began to rub her. 
Bridget sighed and tightened her arms around my neck, 
her body tensed, and within about a minute or two I had 
helped her to reach orgasm. The very first orgasm she 
and I had shared as father and daughter. It was a very 
proud moment for me.

Now, I hate to spoil your fun, but I need to pause here 
and discuss something that I consider to be of vital 
importance. From what I've been able to learn from the 
literature on incest that I've read (including the 
internet porn stories I've collected), most incestuous 
fathers would introduce oral sex at this point. And 
maybe, if your daughter is only seven or eight years 
old (and you're a monster), this would be an effective 
way to go. 

I beg to differ, though, especially when you're talking 
about a daughter already in her teens. Teenage girls 
are naturally more emotionally mature and sexually 
sophisticated than preteen girls, and as a result they 
require something more, or at least different, than 
being made to suck on a nine inch worm-looking thing 
until it shoots a wad of foul-tasting semen into their 
mouths. That can come later (no pun intended).

In my opinion, the best way to introduce your little 
Girl Scout to the wonders of sex beyond kissing and 
fondling is to just go straight to intercourse. Go 
ahead and pop that cherry (if she still has one). But 
do it gently. You want her to be able to associate the 
experience of having her familial sexual boundaries 
violated with love, tenderness, and consideration.

After Bridget had a chance to relax from her orgasm, I 
wordlessly grasped the waistband of her peejays and 
pulled them down over her hips. She was wearing sky 
blue silk panties. French cut. I'm not kidding. Very, 
very sexy. What was my daughter doing with such sexy 
underwear? I really wanted to know, but I didn't think 
that was the proper moment to ask. Instead, I pulled 
them down too, letting them join the peejays around her 
ankles, and I saw, for the first time, Bridget's pubic 
area. The hair on her cunt was just as blonde as the 
hair on her head, and she shaved it, not all off, but 
in a narrow strip right over her cunt.

Why did my daughter feel that it was necessary to trim 
her pubic hair like that? Another question that had to 
go unanswered for the time being.

Bridget put one of her hands on my shoulder to steady 
herself as she stepped out of her peejays and her 
panties, then stood there as I looked her over. She had 
the most amazing body, almost overwhelming in its 
beauty and symmetry. No one, not even a father, could 
be reasonably expected to resist its natural charms. 
Meaning: I didn't.

I took her in my arms again, kissed her mouth, then 
held her gently as I guided her down onto the carpeted 
floor. I lay on top of her and Bridget automatically 
let her legs fall open, making room for me. I continued 
to kiss her as I fumbled with the fly on my pants, then 
reached in and brought out my cock. Bridget had her 
arms around me and I had to reach back and take one of 
them by the wrist and bring it down between us. I 
wrapped her fingers around the shaft of my cock and she 
gripped it gently.

I'd had the idea of getting her to stroke it a little 
first, but just the sensation of her hand holding me 
was so exquisite that I knew if I let her play with it 
I was going to go off too early, so instead I just 
pushed forward, letting her guide my cock toward her 
cunt. I pushed the head in past her lips, paused 
briefly, then pushed my cock further into her. Bridget 
was tight, but warm and a little wet too, and she 
gasped as my cock entered her. I pushed all the way 
into her, noticing to my chagrin that she wasn't a 
virgin, but not wanting to open that can of worms right 
at that moment.

I fucked my daughter slowly, just sliding my cock into 
her and pulling it back, and she tightened her arms 
around me, no doubt holding me in the same way she'd 
held the asshole who'd stolen her virginity from me. We 
fucked this way for several minutes, Bridget holding 
onto me but staying silent, her face turned away and 
her eyes closed. 

I wished she could show some sign of pleasure or 
enthusiasm, but I knew that was more than I could 
reasonably expect. At least she wasn't crying, or 
fighting me and begging me to stop. For me, it was an 
indescribable experience; I was fucking my own 
beautiful little girl. I held her and kissed her as I 
steadily pumped my cock in and out of her cunt, loving 
her more than I ever had before.

Eventually, I felt my cock swelling up and getting 
ready to explode. I started fucking her a little harder 
then, racing toward the end, until the pressure became 
too great to hold it back anymore and I went off, 
groaning as I spilled come into her body.

Afterward we sort of collapsed together on the floor, 
me breathing hard and giving her little kisses and 
telling her how much I loved her, Bridget just staying 
still beneath me and lightly caressing my back.

We lay like that for maybe five minutes, until Bridget 
put her lips to my ear and whispered, "Can I get up 
now, Dad?"

I reluctantly pulled out of her and got to my feet, 
then helped her up, and as I put my cock back in my 
pants Bridget grabbed up her peejays and her underwear 
and disappeared out the door.

Now, you might be wondering at this point, Did she 
enjoy it or not? It kind of sounded like she did, but 
there was no orgasm, no cries of, "Yes! Yes! Fuck me, 
Daddy, fuck me!" But neither were there tears, or pain, 
or pleading for me to stop. Believe me, I was wondering 
the same thing. The answers to those questions came, 
but they are best addressed in the following sections, 
since the upcoming rules offer strategies on how you 
can deal with your little Pet post-intercourse.

*****

Rule Number 6: Convince Her It Was Her Idea

When I first wrote this rule down I used the word 
"fault" instead of idea, and even though I changed it I 
believe that "fault" might actually be the most 
appropriate word. The problem is that "fault" implies 
that there's something wrong with a father having sex 
with his daughter, and if you've read this far then you 
more than likely believe, as I do, that despite 
whatever the law and social customs say, there is in 
fact nothing more natural and right than father 
daughter incest. Because of this I will use the word 
"idea," although you should probably keep that other, 
pesky, word in mind as we continue, because your 
daughter sure will. 

She's been conditioned from the moment of birth (as we 
all have) to view incest of any sort as wrong, bad, 
nasty, sinful, abhorrent, pick your adjective, and if 
(when) she finds herself involved with you sexually, 
she will feel guilty about it, and more than likely 
responsible. I know, it's silly and unnatural, but 
unfortunately it's normal. What you need to do is help 
her work through those feelings of guilt, get rid of 
them, while at the same time retaining her sense of 
responsibility. 

This doesn't mean that you don't take any 
responsibility yourself; your goal here is to foster a 
sense of shared responsibility, not shame or blame. You 
and your little Cupcake are in this together.

To accomplish the above, you need to communicate with 
your daughter. And I don't mean ask her if she liked 
getting fucked by her daddy. Talk to her about her 
feelings, her fears and her doubts, her opinion about 
the changes in your relationship, her thoughts about 
the directions it might go in the future. Listen to 
what she says, and take it seriously. I know I'm 
starting to sound like Oprah here, but the truth is 
your daughter is (or should be) a young woman, and this 
is the kind of thing women respond to. And if your 
daughter believes that you truly love her, and that her 
concerns are important to you, she'll be more likely to 
let you lead her down the path you want her to take.

And, once again, if you've done your preliminary work, 
if you've groomed her well, and you've been a good 
father to her all along, none of this will be any more 
difficult with your daughter than it would be with any 
other woman.

In other words, who knows if it'll work or not?
I was fortunate enough to have a daughter who proved 
very susceptible to my loving and caring influence. Not 
'extremely,' just very.

After that first sexual encounter with her on the floor 
of my office (a mistake, I realized in hindsight; 
floors are not a romantic location for your first tryst 
with any female), I let the situation cool off for a 
few days. Bridget and I both had to have time to 
collect our thoughts and assess the experience.

For my part, I felt like the luckiest man alive, and 
that all was right with the world. Bridget, though, 
seemed to withdraw a bit, not just from me but from the 
family as well. She spent less time with us and more 
time in her room, and taking long showers (longer than 
usual). She didn't see any boys (thank God in Heaven), 
didn't see any of her friends, and even passed up 
opportunities to fight with her sister and brother. 
This deflated my joy somewhat, but I forced myself to 
leave her alone. She was a good girl, and she would 
come around.

Four days went by and I decided it was time for us to 
reconnect. It was a Saturday, and my other two kids 
were out doing things with their friends, and as luck 
would have it Kate was working an extra shift at the 
hospital. Once again, it was just me and Bridget alone. 
This time I went up to her room.

I found her laying on her bed, a teen magazine up in 
front of her face and headphones over her ears. She 
didn't hear me knock, and she didn't see me standing in 
the doorway. I went into her room and got just close 
enough that she noticed me and looked up. I gave her a 
little wave and she took her headphones off. I could 
hear the noisy music from four feet away and wondered 
why she wasn't bleeding from her ears.

"Hi, Dad," she said, her voice somewhat subdued. She 
looked into my eyes, but only for a second before she 
looked down.

"Hi, sweetheart," I said. I glanced down at her body; 
she was wearing black jeans and a bright blue top that 
hugged her breasts, and I could see a black bra strap 
on one of her shoulders. "I was hoping I could talk to 
you for a minute."

"Sure."

She still didn't look at me, even as I approached her 
bed, then sat down on the edge. I touched her knee and 
finally she brought her eyes up to meet mine.

"Are you doing alright?" I asked.

"Sure, Dad. I'm fine," Bridget said. She stared into my 
eyes for a moment, then looked down. "Well. Maybe not 
totally fine." She took a breath and let it out. "I 
guess I'm kinda confused. About... you know."

"I know," I said. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Bridget set her magazine aside, took off her headphones 
and crossed her arms in front of her breasts. She 
looked down at where I had my hand on her knee.

"Well," she said, "I feel two different ways about it. 
I mean, it's wrong and I shouldn't be doing it. But at 
the same time... well... the hugging and kissing and 
touching? I liked doing those things, it made me feel 
close to you, and I wanna feel close to you, Dad. But 
the sex... you didn't hurt me or anything, but still... 
I feel like I messed everything up."

"You didn't mess anything up, sweetheart," I said. I 
scooted a little further up the bed and touched one of 
her arms. "I want you to know this, Bridget. You didn't 
do anything wrong. But I feel that, in a way, neither 
did I. I mean, okay, society says that you and I 
shouldn't be doing what we've been doing, but my honest 
feeling about it is that it's right. It feels right." 

I moved my hand up to her shoulder, then touched her 
hair. "You're the sweetest and most beautiful girl I've 
ever known. And I guess when I see you, and I get to 
hold you in my arms, I kind of lose my head." That's 
right, shoulder some of the responsibility. Believe me, 
she'll love you for it. "And as far as hurting you... 
well, I could never willingly hurt you, Bridget. You're 
too precious to me."

I leaned in to kiss her, and not only did she let me 
kiss her, but she kissed me back. And when I touched my 
tongue to her lips, she opened her mouth and let me put 
it inside. As I french-kissed her I let my hand fall 
from her hair down to her left breast. She moved her 
arm out of the way and let me take it and hold it.

I went slowly but surely, and in about five minutes I 
had most of Bridget's clothes off and was laying on top 
of her on the bed. I was sucking her nipples and 
playing with her cunt, and even though she was 
responding with excited little moans she still seemed 
somewhat reluctant, unsure of what we were doing. I 
kept on with what I was doing until she had come, then 
moved down her body until my face was between her 
widespread legs.

I buried my mouth in her golden pubic hair, kissed and 
licked her cunt, burrowed my tongue between her lips, 
gently sucked on her clit. I pulled out all the stops, 
making passionate and generous love to my daughter with 
my mouth, until finally she arched her back, pushed her 
cunt up against my feverish tongue, and came with a 
shuddering gasping cry of release.

Afterward I moved back up and covered Bridget's body 
with mine, holding her and kissing her cheek and 
letting her think, for a few moments at least, about 
what had just occurred. But I didn't let her think too 
long. I needed to keep going, and not just because it 
suited my plans of seduction; I wanted to fuck her more 
than I've ever wanted to fuck any woman in my entire 
life.

Without saying anything I reached down and worked my 
cock out of my pants. To my surprise (and delight) 
Bridget took it upon herself to grasp it and guide up 
to the lips of her cunt. I entered her, probably a 
little too abruptly, but I couldn't help myself, and 
began to make love to her with an intensity I'd rarely 
known before. Bridget wrapped her arms around my neck, 
then wrapped her legs around my waist, and held on as I 
fucked her. 

She didn't utter those words that every father wants to 
hear, she actually didn't say anything at all, but the 
gasps and sweet moans of pleasure that spilled into my 
ears, the simmering heat of her cunt around my cock, 
let me know that she was enjoying herself.

Bridget came for the third time that morning, her 
fabulous body trembling beneath me, and in the next 
moment I came too, groaning in shameless ecstasy. In 
the aftermath, Bridget wept softly and I held her, 
murmured reassurances and loving things to her. I told 
her more than once that everything was going to be 
alright, and in my heart I knew it was true. Because 
we'd crossed that first real hurdle, and the grand 
frontier of father daughter incest now lay before us, a 
brilliant country that we could explore without guilt, 
and to our hearts' content.

*****

Rule Number 7: Be Gentle But Firm

Despite the poetry of the last paragraph, moving 
forward with an already established incestuous 
relationship is not all bliss. There are still rough 
patches ahead, a rocky and uneven road, and, like any 
other kind of relationship, it will require constant 
attention and maintenance to sustain. Your little 
Snookums might hang on to some of her reservations, 
change her mind, or even rebel and tell you to leave 
her the hell alone or she's telling Mom. You need to be 
ready for these things, and respond to them in ways 
that will strengthen your bond with her, not destroy 
it.

In my opinion, this is one of the areas in which 
incestuous fathers make their biggest mistakes. Because 
they don't understand that their romance with their 
daughters is exactly that, a romance; it's not a power 
struggle, and it's not about making her behave or bend 
to your will. Ripping her clothes off and slapping her 
around and brutalizing her might be one of your fondest 
fantasies, but it's not going to keep her mouth shut. 
And threatening her with the breakup of your family, 
the loss of your love, jail, etc., is just going to 
make things worse.

On the other hand, there comes a time when the gifts 
and the money and the preferential treatment won't be 
enough. You have to find a middle ground on which to 
operate. This is where the best fathering technique, 
Gentleness mixed with Firmness, comes in very handy.

Your daughter needs to be reminded that she's in this 
thing with you, that on some level she desires it as 
much (or almost as much) as you do. In fact, you can 
say this to her, and put it in language that emphasizes 
her part of the responsibility. If she has come to you, 
or in any other way initiated the sexual contact, or if 
she has had orgasms as a result of whatever you've been 
doing with/to her, point these things out as evidence 
of her commitment. Point out the fact that she 
continues to dress and/or act in sexy and seductive 
ways (even if she doesn't). 

Remind her of your emotional bond, especially in regard 
to your mutually negative feelings toward her mother. 
But don't do any of this in an accusatory way; remember 
that it's not all her fault (responsibility). Talk to 
her as any father would, with love, with respect, and 
with a sense of firm guidance.

I confronted this particular problem about three months 
into my incestuous relationship with Bridget. By this 
time we had made love exactly twenty-seven times (yes, 
I kept count), mostly intercourse, but also several 
incidents of oral sex (I introduced my daughter to oral 
sex after the first month or so, although I should 
admit that it wasn't so much an introduction as a 
refresher course; apparently, she'd already developed a 
remarkable amount of skill in this area. 

I wanted to ask her where she learned to suck cock like 
that (believe me, she was a genius with her mouth and 
tongue) but I didn't trust myself; I knew that if she 
actually told me, I'd not only put the culprit in the 
hospital, but more than likely give her a good swift 
kick in the cunt as well. Instead, I just let the whole 
question slide by without comment).

Bridget had been admirably cooperative in the 
beginning, but as our relationship deepened she began 
to drift away from me even as we became physically 
closer. I didn't think she was becoming particularly 
unhappy so much as just less interested, as if she had 
already learned whatever she needed to learn from the 
experience and was wanting to move on. I suppose women 
can be like that. Men, of course, don't give a fig 
about learning anything new, as long as they can 
continue to have great sex. Or just sex.

Anyway, I naturally grew concerned about my daughter, 
and about the possibility that she might let our secret 
slip simply to bring an end to it. I knew I had to do 
something, but unfortunately, I didn't know what I 
could possibly do beyond what I was already doing, with 
the talking and the affection and the presents and the 
looking the other way when her entire bedroom smelled 
of pot.

I also looked the other way when Bridget showed me the 
lesbian porn magazines Carrie hid in her underwear 
drawer, but that doesn't really have anything to do 
with this subject; I just mentioned it to give the 
reader something fun to think about.

I, like most fathers, didn't take any direct action to 
shore up my position until it was nearly too late. As I 
said, it was three months into the incest, and Bridget 
had withdrawn from me emotionally, and sometimes 
physically as well, and then for a period of about five 
or six days she simply refused to let me do anything 
with her at all. She wouldn't even let me feel her 
tits. The situation was intolerable.

I needed to get her alone, away from the house and the 
family, and straighten her out. So I arranged to take 
her with me on a short business trip out of town. I 
know I said earlier that this was a no-no, but that's 
only true in the beginning stages; at the kind of point 
Bridget and I were at, it's not only okay, but 
recommended. Just keep reading, you'll see why.

They were holding a three day journalists' conference 
in Chicago, and Bridget was actually excited to go, 
mostly, I think, because she'd never been to Chicago 
before. Of course, Carrie wanted to go too, but I told 
her she could come with me on my next trip; maybe there 
was a teen lesbian convention somewhere.

Anyway: we got to Chicago the evening before the 
conference started, had dinner at a nice restaurant, 
then went to the hotel the paper had booked for me. I'd 
told them that I was traveling alone, so while I had to 
pay for Bridget's ticket myself, the room they'd given 
me was a single, with just one bed. Yes, I'm a genius.

Bridget had been in high spirits, awestruck by the big 
city, but as soon as she got to our room and realized 
that we would be sharing it, along with the one bed, 
her attitude changed and she became grumpy and locked 
herself in the bathroom. It took me nearly an hour to 
get her to unlock the door, and another five minutes to 
convince her to come out to the room where we could 
talk.

We sat in two chairs, facing each other, and I took the 
direct approach, asking her why she was so upset with 
me. I told her she could be honest, say whatever she 
wanted to say. And Bridget, that little fire engine, 
took it to heart.

"What do you 'think' is wrong?" she asked me. "You're 
having sex with me all the time. It's wrong, Dad. I'm 
your daughter, for fuck's sake. Don't you care about 
how I feel at all? Is that all I'm good for, an easy 
fuck when the house is empty or a quick blowjob in the 
car on the way home from school? Is that all I am to 
you, just some stupid slut you can stick your dick into 
whenever you want?"

She said several other things in that vein, her words 
and tone of voice designed to wound me, and while they 
did to a certain degree, I made sure I didn't let that 
show. I took the attitude that I was just letting her 
blow off some steam, get things off her chest, and as 
soon as she was done we could begin to work things out.

And that was pretty much what happened. Once Bridget 
was done ranting and raving, she started to cry, and I 
embraced her and shushed her and stroked her hair and 
told her, as always, everything was going to be okay. 
She was stiff in my arms at first, but after a few 
minutes she relaxed, then pressed her face against my 
chest and said, "I'm sorry, Daddy. I just don't know 
what to do anymore."

Now, here is one of the many points at which a father 
will stumble, make a bad mistake and ruin everything. 
Some fathers will whimp out and say, "That's okay, 
sweetheart, we don't have to do anything more if you 
don't want to," while others will take the overly 
aggressive approach and rip her clothes off and slap 
her and throw her on the bed and teach the little brat 
a lesson.

Neither of these approaches is a good idea, because 
they rob your little girl of responsibility, 
initiative, and a sense of having control over her 
life. The first option might seem like you're handing 
over all control, but in fact you're not, because 
there's a part of her that wants you to be the one to 
make the decision. Of course, she might be wanting you 
to decide to leave her alone, but that's beside the 
point. 

The main thing is that, even if she thinks you're being 
a rotten daddy, at least you ARE being the daddy, and 
that's what your little girl needs more than anything 
else. On the other hand, roughing her up is a bad idea 
too, because, as tempting as it is, unless you've 
already been role-playing rape fantasies with your 
little Boo Boo, she's more than likely just going to 
call the police.

With Bridget, I knew I had to walk a tightrope. I 
couldn't indulge my more nefarious and violent 
impulses, and yet I couldn't just let her abandon what 
we had, especially since I knew that it was at least a 
resemblance of what she wanted with me. I said as much 
to her, and told her that we were so close to realizing 
the full and wonderful potential of our relationship, 
it would be a crime to give up now. 

I told her that I needed her, and that she needed me 
too. She shook her head at that and I said, "I'm right, 
Bridget, you know I'm right, and you know you don't 
want to give up." I said some other things, personal 
and intimate things, and they don't really need to be 
recounted here.

Bridget still tried to resist, but her arguments were 
growing weaker and weaker, her resolve was crumbling, 
and finally, after about an hour of intense talking, I 
saw my chance. A little bit of physical propaganda was 
in order.

We happened to be sitting together on the bed, and I 
already had my arms around her, and so it was just a 
matter of guiding her down onto her back and making 
love to her. I unbuttoned her blouse and got her bra 
open, and she let me fondle her and suck on her 
nipples, and she even let me slide my hand up under her 
skirt and into her panties to play with her, but when I 
started to pull her panties down she grabbed my wrist 
and said no. I didn't let this stop me. After all, I 
had the truth on my side.

Bridget is a strong girl, and she can be very stubborn, 
but she really didn't put up that much of a fight. I 
managed to get her panties off without too much 
trouble, and after a short struggle I got my cock into 
her and started fucking her. She whimpered and said, 
"Daddy, please don't," but of course by then it was too 
late. Besides, we both knew she didn't really want me 
to stop. The evidence was in the way her resistance 
slackened the more I fucked her, and the two orgasms 
she had before I had my own.

Now, some of you might be thinking that I disregarded 
my own advice and raped Bridget, but you'll notice if 
you reread the above few paragraphs (and I'm sure some 
of you will, with dicks in hand) that there was no 
violence, no threats, no tearing of clothes. I did 
force myself on her, but I did it gently and firmly, 
and the whole time I was having my way with her I was 
talking to her, telling her all the things I'd told her 
before, using words and logic and reason along with my 
superior strength to persuade her that her fears and 
her doubts were misguided, and that this melding of our 
bodies and hearts was the true substance of who we 
were.

I won't say that this method was a complete cure. There 
were still some wrinkles in our road to be worked on, 
but for the most part Bridget did straighten up and 
behave herself after that. She was sixteen then, and 
for the past year we have enjoyed a very satisfying 
romantic and sexual relationship. Because we both know 
and believe that this is the way we were meant to love 
each other.


Rule Number 8: Don't Get Caught

This rule is obvious and self-explanatory, but I'm 
going to review it anyway, for the same reason that rat 
poison manufacturers put warning labels on their 
products that say things like, "Not for human 
consumption." Because, unfortunately, it's necessary.

It's shocking to me, the number of fathers who get 
caught, either because their daughters tell on them or 
because they make some lame-brained mistake that any 
person with an IQ over 12 can avoid. In my opinion, 
these guys deserve to get caught; if they're not smart 
enough or careful enough to keep their special 
relationship with their daughters a secret, then they 
shouldn't be messing around with their little Cookies 
in the first place. Morons, all of them.

Avoiding detection is simple, especially if you've 
observed the prior seven rules with circumspection and 
diligence. If you've groomed her well, started out 
small and proceeded slowly, fostered a rift between her 
and her mother, developed a strong romantic bond 
between her and yourself, helped her to understand and 
accept her part of the responsibility, and gently but 
firmly corrected her when she drifted off course, then 
the rest should be smooth sailing. 

Your well conditioned daughter won't tell anyone, not 
her mother, not her best friend, not her shit-bag 
boyfriend, or her sexually confused sister. She'll keep 
it to herself, partly because you want her to, and 
partly because she herself does too.

The other types of mistakes that get a father arrested 
and tried and convicted and registered as a sex 
offender are even easier to avoid, because they deal 
with common sense: don't molest her when Mom (or anyone 
else) is in the very next room; don't molest her in 
public places like the beach or the mall, whether or 
not they are places where you'll be recognized as 
father and daughter; don't leave any evidence, like 
stolen underwear or photos or videos or how-to guides, 
laying around where anyone can find them; lock all that 
stuff up as tight as possible, or else destroy it; 
don't brag to your buddies or online friends (who could 
very well turn out to be police officers looking for 
guys like you), and for God's sake, don't try to get 
her to include one of her friends; this is between you 
and your daughter ONLY. 

Once the word gets out, you're sunk. You might as well 
begin preparing for a long prison sentence and daily 
butt-rapings.

For the past two years I've managed to steer clear of 
all of these things. Granted, there were a few close 
calls; there was the time I joined Bridget in the 
shower and heard the wife's car coming into the 
driveway just as I was unloading about a liter of come 
into my daughter's mouth; the time Kate found a pair of 
Bridget's panties under my side of the bed; and of 
course the Chicago hotel bill, which showed that I took 
a room with a single bed (I told Kate I'd slept on the 
floor and the stupid cunt believed me). But for the 
most part I was very careful, and as a result very 
successful in keeping my relationship with Bridget 
expertly disguised as a normal and loving father 
daughter relationship.

And you can too. The love you feel and so desperately 
want to express to your little Sweetykins can become a 
reality. All you have to do is follow these rules with 
care, use your head, and don't panic in situations that 
are less than perfect. Love your daughter with all your 
heart. And don't get caught.

****

It's eight-thirty in the morning and I've got to go to 
the store to get some batteries, but I want to add this 
little note before I leave. I've just arranged with 
Bridget to go to a hotel with me tonight, using the 
ruse that we're going to a movie for a father daughter 
evening. She's not happy with me, because she was 
planning to go out with one of her lowlife boyfriends, 
but I insisted. I also wouldn't let her have the car 
keys. She told me she hated me, and yet she agreed to 
go with me tonight, which just serves to reinforce 
everything I've written so far; with the proper 
guidance, your daughter will go along with you, involve 
herself fully in the romance, even when she's not in 
the mood.

I am a blessed and brilliant man.

And if I don't drop dead between now and then, I'm 
going to enjoy a very special evening with my little 
girl; I'm planning to introduce her to the joys of anal 
sex.

Which reminds me, I should get some Vaseline while I'm 
out.

the end

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 47