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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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Eight Simple Rules for Seducing your Teenage Daughter
by Your Ghost (no address provided)
***
This is a parody of the television show '8 simple rules
for dating my teenage daughter; 'despite what the
narrator of this story says, this is in fact NOT a guide
for seducing your daughter or anyone else; it was
written and is being posted here solely for the purposes
of parody and entertainment, and should not be taken as
an encouragement to molest your daughter or anyone else;
however, if your daughter is a consenting, willing
adult, then go for it. (M/f-teen, ped, reluc, inc, oral,
rom, TV-parody)
***
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 young 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 a teen 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 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 continue 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 Four: 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 barrelling 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 Five: 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 1960s), 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 her tanktop. 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.
*** Rule Number Six: 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 it 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 Seven: 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 wimp 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 Eight: 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 lamebrained 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 shitbag 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.
Of course the Chicago hotel bill, 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.
END
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The author does not condone child abuse, this story
is meant as an erotic fantasy not depicting anything
in 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 system.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 80