MF, Fg12, Mg12, moth/dau, fath/dau, inc, 1st, ped, cons

One startling image changes a father's, mother's and daughter's life . . . for the better.

Bowing my head under the shower, I let the strong spray pound the back of my head, neck and shoulders, water pouring over my face and dripping from my nose and chin. Leaning with an arm on the tiled wall I waited for the shower to wash away thoughts and images in my mind, to cleanse me of the filth I was duty bound to wade through almost daily and to purge me of my shame.

"Hey, Dad!"

I heard Emma pounding on the bathroom door.

"Mom says hurry up. It's almost dinner time."

"Be there soon, Em," I yelled.

Turning the shower off, I inspected my face in the mirror as I dried, looking for tell-tale signs of the stress I was feeling. Aside from raccoon eyes, I seemed quite normal I thought. Huh, hard to believe. I tried a smile. Pretty weak; wouldn't fool anyone.

Jean watched her husband walk into the kitchen. She felt another flash of concern for him. Paul was a good man who was beginning to look older than his thirty-two years. The shadows under his eyes never seemed to go away. He'd lost weight, and just a bit of the vitality he'd always had was missing.

"Hey, Honey," she said softly, walking up to him and slipping her arms around his trim waist. "Feeling better?" she asked.

I inhaled Jean's perfume and kissed her sexy mouth. Dark amber eyes watched me and they couldn't hide the concern she was feeling. Jean couldn't hide anything from me I thought. She was too honest, the best person I'd ever known in my life.

Smiling, I responded trying to reassure, "Never better, Sweetheart." Reaching down I fondled then pinched her sexy ass lightly. At five feet four, the top of her head didn't reach my chin, and I absolutely adored how her compact, small body felt against me.

Turning from Paul with a flick of her shoulder length honey-blond hair, Jean blushed slightly when she spotted Emma in the doorway grinning.

"Take it upstairs guys," Emma said with a bright smile. She liked how Mom and Dad were so touchy-feely all the time. It was good to see two people so in love. One day, she dreamed to herself, one day she'd find it, too. At twelve, she'd been thinking of boys more and more. She knew what she wanted; she wanted a boy just like Dad. One that would adore her like Dad did Mom, one that couldn't keep his hands off her. Maybe one that looked like Dad, sexy and handsome. Yeah, that would be nice.

"So, how was your day, Em?" I asked as I drew her into a hug. I loved my daughter, a mini Jean, thick honey-blond hair cut in feathers to just below her shoulders, darker eyebrows that matched the roots of her hair, Jean's gorgeous dark amber eyes and nice mouth. She'd been blessed everything good from Jean's side. The only trace of me in her was her lankiness. She was slender and going to be taller than her mom; she was already five two.

"It was good." Emma wondered why Dad blushed when she hugged him.

"So? Tell. You can't just say it was good. Details, Em. I want details," I said with a smile.

Jean smiled when Em answered, "Cuz it's Friday!"

Dinner was relaxed and Jean watched her husband carefully as they chatted. He was so handsome in her eyes, sexy mouth that was quick to smile, thick dark hair that needed a cut, falling over his eyebrows, almost into his magnetic dark brown eyes. They radiated his good nature. And, as dinner progressed, with some relief she saw the stress wrinkles around them begin to disappear.

That night as she lay in bed, stroking Paul's erection, she luxuriated in his tender kisses and little nips of her nipples, making them ache so pleasantly. She felt the first flush of moist arousal when Paul gently squeezed them, a pulse of pleasure lighting up her body from her nipples to her pussy. Another stronger pulse hit her when she felt precum dampening the tip of his erection, a sign of his arousal she could never get enough of. She relished that she could still arouse him after so many years. Pushing him on his back she moved down, excitement running through her. She wanted Paul to relax, wanted her husband to feel good. Maybe this time?

Holding his strong erection she slipped her lips over the thick engorged head slowly, keeping them tight. The feeling of his slippery, silky precum on her lips excited her more. Moaning quietly, her lips parted to engulf the head of his strong erection, her tongue caressing the tip, probing the slit, her hand gently stroking his rigid thick shaft.

She moaned louder when Paul's fingers slipped through her buttocks, pausing briefly to probe her anus before slipping into her cleft, sending small shivers through her. She sucked gently, tasting his delicious precum, her tongue caressing the flared head, so good, so big in her mouth.

Rising, Jean straddled Paul, reaching down to guide his erection through her slit, feeling a spike of pleasure when it rasped over her engorged and sensitive clit. Pushing it back further she nestled his hard erection to her already moist vagina, small tremors flitting through her. Slowly, slowly she sat, groaning at how good he felt as he slipped in, stretching her beautifully, filling her so well, a satisfying erotic feeling, loving every inch of his penetration. Eyes closed, she settled on him, smiling.

I tried hard, so hard. I caressed Jean's lovely full breasts, still firm with a sensuous heft, sloping on top and curved seductively below, her prominent nipples, stiff from her arousal, standing proud. Her darker honey-blond pubic bush felt silky soft on my erection and her heat, the slickness of her cleft was amazing. I loved how wet she'd get when she was aroused, not damp but wet, slippery. Somehow she'd tighten her vagina just as I'd penetrate her, making herself tight, tight, a velvet sheath slipping over my penis, sliding down erotically, warm velvet hugging my erection, God so good.

I looked at her sitting astride me, proud breasts flushed, pink areolae crinkled, firm and erect nipples. I loved the small soft swell of her lower stomach, a sign of her maturity, just a slight swell, so sexy. Seeing her knees spread to my sides and the soft curves of her hips excited me. I adored her pussy, full between her thighs with a trimmed silky bush. I looked into her familiar face.

Oh God no! Please no!

An image flashed through my mind. Squeezing my eyes shut I tried to banish it. Please, please go, I pleaded. It hovered, a child, dark amber eyes, small lightly dusted pubis spread monstrously by an adult penis. Shame filled me, a polluted tide rising inside me. I lost it, my erection fading, melting. I lost it. "Sorry, Jean," I whispered. "God, I'm so sorry."

"Hush." She felt Paul's erection soften inside her. Laying down on him, she kissed his chin and then his lips gently. "It's okay, Honey," she whispered before rolling to his side, holding him close. It was the seventh time, twice this last week alone.

As she lay next to him she wondered what she could do. He wouldn't talk about his transfer to the Child Exploitation Section. She didn't understand why he'd been transferred, although they claimed it was temporary. She didn't understand even when Paul had told her he was implementing a software program to electronically analyze images and videos, sort through the reams of evidence to highlight those that were new. What she did know is it was affecting him deeply. He'd lost his boyish humor, his joie de vivre, along with his libido.


Jean wondered if Dr. Marsten had got the address wrong. Surely this couldn't be the place. A cottage? Here? In the city? It looked so out of place sandwiched between commercial buildings, dry cleaner on one side and a photo processing lab on the other. A small neat garden led up to the quaint porch.

Despite wandering up and down the street, Jean realized this must be it. Yet standing on the porch, she wondered if someone would think her crazy when they answered her knock looking for a psychiatrist.

The door opened to reveal a mid-fiftyish man with gray hair. He was tall, slim, a longish clean-shaven face, with frameless glasses revealing gray eyes. "Mrs. Simmons?" he asked with a deep, deep gravelly voice, giving her a welcoming smile.

"Oh. Yes. Dr. Grayson?"

"The one and only," he answered with another smile. "Please, come in."

He led her into a cozy sitting room, an orderly arrangement of comfortable if rather old fashioned furniture and nick-knacks here and there, inviting her to sit opposite him on a couch that turned out to be quite comfortable despite its appearance.

"Dr. Marsten gave me no information, other than you needed to talk to someone. How can I help you?" he asked kindly.

"Dr. Grayson, I . . ."

"Please Mrs. Simmons," he interrupted, "call me Keith."

Jean smiled. "Okay, then please call me Jean."

"Deal." He waited for her to resume.

"It's my husband, Paul. He's having problems and I don't know how to help him."

"If I might ask, Jean, why isn't Paul here then?" Dr. Grayson inquired, eyes watching Jean's every gesture.

"Um. Well it's not the sort of thing he'd agree to," she said, adding, "He's a good man, Doctor, but he can be stubborn at times. I just thought if I could find a way to help him . . ." her voice trailing off.

"What does Paul do?"

"He works for the police department."

"So he's a police officer?" Dr. Grayson asked.

"No. He's a civilian employee. His specialty is computers. He designs programs for the police."

"I see. So what exactly is the problem? How can I help?" He smiled encouragingly.

"Paul was transferred three weeks ago. Ever since, he's become more introspective. I can tell he's under great stress and, um . . ." Jean flushed slightly, "he has trouble . . . no. Let me see. We can't . . . um. You see our sex life has . . ." her voice trailed off, embarrassed.

"Please, Jean. Don't be embarrassed. The fact that you are here bodes well for him. But I have to be honest; impotence is not my area of practice." Dr. Grayson had heard the story all too often with police families. "I can refer you to . . ."

"No. It's more than that. I'm worried," Jean interrupted.

"What exactly does your husband do? You mentioned he was transferred. To where?"

"Didn't I say? He was transferred to the Child Exploitation Section. He's designing a program to electronically sort through photo and video evidence, or something."

"I see. Did the problems start after his transfer?" Dr. Grayson asked, suspecting they did.

"Yes." Jean remembered Paul's embarrassment when he first experienced impotence, only six days after starting.

"Ah. Well that clears it up."

"Sorry? How?" she asked, surprised Dr. Grayson already understood something she didn't quite get.

"I suspect Paul is being traumatized by the material he's being forced to deal with every day."

Jean looked at him, confused. "How? He writes code, programs computers."

Dr. Grayson studied Jean for a minute before answering. She seemed to honestly be worried. He wondered if she really understood what her husband was likely going through. It appeared she might not.

"Jean, have you talked about his work with him? Have you discussed specifics?" he asked.

"He won't talk about it," she answered. "I've tried to but he clams up. He smiles and tells me he doesn't want to bring it into the house."

"Well, let me put it to you this way. To test a software program you have to manually compare the program's output with the actual material, review everything the program is assessing to ensure it is accurately sorting and identifying material, achieving the planned performance parameters. Do you understand?"

"I think so." She paused, her face turning pale. "You mean he . . ."

"Yes. And something he's seen is probably upsetting him. That would be only a guess at this point, but a fairly safe one."

"But how? I mean if he's not, you know, um . . . interested in that stuff, why is it affecting him so much?"

Dr. Grayson wondered at her question. It seemed naïve. "Jean, have you ever seen the sort of material he's reviewing?"

"God no! Why would I?" she said sharply.

"If you don't know what he has to deal with, how can you help him or understand his reactions?" Dr. Grayson asked reasonably.

"I . . . I never thought about it, Doctor."

"Keith," he said with a kind smile.

"Sorry . . . Keith. Why would I? And when would I ever see stuff like that? I know it's horrendous, I mean, sexual abuse of a child is horrendous. Why would I have to see the abuse to understand?"

"Jean, trust me, you will never fully understand what your husband is going through without seeing what he's being forced to deal with."

"But he won't even talk about it, let alone show me," Jean said, her voice raised slightly in agitation.

Dr. Grayson debated with himself. He wondered how he might help Jean help her husband. It would be so much better if her husband would consent to treatment. Hmm.

"Jean, are you sure you cannot convince your husband to see me? Perhaps for just a single visit?"

Jean thought back to when she asked Paul if he would see the department's shrink. She frowned remembering his flat refusal, "absolutely not, Jean. I can handle this," he'd said unusually firmly.

"No. I've tried," she sighed sadly. Her voice picked up urgency, "But I have to try to help him. Please, Dr. Grayson," she pleaded.

"Well, this is not quite conventional. Treating someone through a third party is not appropriate." He paused considering. "However, there can be no harm in helping you understand what your husband is going through."

He added, "Why don't you pour yourself a cup of tea while I step out for a moment?" nodding to a rectangular side table before rising. "And please, Jean, call me Keith," he added with a soft smile.

Jean sat with a cup of tea just as Dr. Grayson came back into the sitting room, two binders under his arm, one black, one red. This time he sat next to her on the couch and placed the red binder on a side table, handing the black one to her. She put her tea down and took the binder.

"Jean, look through this binder. It will give you an idea of what your husband is dealing with. We'll start there."

She opened the binder and gasped. It was a photo album. The first picture showed a small child, perhaps six or seven, on her back at the edge of a bed, legs spread and her sex stretched obscenely by an adult penis penetrating her about two inches. It looked painful, her whole cleft filled by the erection, labia stretched thin and pale. The second photo made her shudder, the same child sitting on the side of the bed, her small mouth stretched wide as the faceless man shoved his erection into her mouth, his hand on the back of her head as though he was pulling her, her poor lips stretched widely.

Jean slammed the binder closed, breathing hard. "Good God. Paul's looking at this stuff?" she asked, not expecting an answer.

"Jean, you should look at more. You won't understand until you see the full binder," Dr. Grayson said softly, understanding her shock.

Jean opened the photo album, flipping to the second page, eyes narrowing at the sight of a barely pubescent girl bent over, ass in the air and an adult erection penetrating her anus, her buttocks spread wide. She looked at an eleven or twelve-year-old with the first signs of pubic hair astride an adult, her pudendum stretched wide as she was penetrated, her clitoris red and inflamed. Flipping through the album she saw a four-year-old lying on a bed, white semen spotting her chest and covering her hairless pudendum; a masked man on his knees fucking an eight-year-old, his erection three-quarters buried in her vagina, and more, more. Each image horrendous, little girls faces covered in semen, little girls seemingly stroking adult penises, big men laying on top of tiny girls, penetrating them, raping them, cocks spurting semen into children's open mouths, men fingering immature pudenda. Finally she could take no more, slamming the binder closed.

"How could they?" she asked shocked. "How . . . How could they find that sexually exciting?" She turned to look at Dr. Grayson. "How can men be so cruel?"

Dr. Grayson gently took the binder from her sweaty hands. "Perhaps you should look at this one as well," he said, handing her the red binder.

Jean's hands trembled slightly as she opened the binder. She didn't think she could be surprised after seeing the last binder, but she was. Stunned! She looked at a photo of a mature woman giving oral sex to a boy, a young boy with an erection perhaps three inches long, no pubic hair. She sucked in her breath when another picture showed a ten-year-old fucking a mature woman, his small penis buried in her hairy pussy. Turning the pages she saw images of women with young boys engaged in every type of sex.

About half way through, when she turned another page, she gasped. A mother was licking an infant girl's pussy, her tongue pushing between fat hairless labia. Another photo had a girl licking a woman's pubis, her whole hand pushed into the woman's vagina. And then Jean felt her face flush when she saw a picture of a barely pubescent girl, eleven or twelve, legs spread, cleft partially open. What amazed her was seeing a mature woman licking what was clearly semen leaking from the girl's vagina. But, what stunned her, absolutely floored her, was feeling her own nipples react, tightening, tingling.

She slammed the binder closed, throwing it to her side on the couch. With shaking hands she picked up her tea, sipping, the cup rattling on the saucer as she lowered it.

Dr. Grayson had not missed her reactions. He'd watched her carefully, seeing the shock and horror at the images of men with underage girls. He'd watched the look of amazement and disgust when she'd started looking at adult women with young boys.

He's also noted her peculiar reaction to the images of women with underage girls, knowing exactly which photo she had been looking at when she flushed and closed the binder. He gave her time to compose herself.

Eventually he spoke. "As you can see, Jean, it is not just men who are sexually attracted by youth, prepubescent and pubescent children."

"I never knew," she said softly, looking down at her cup of tea in her lap trying to stop her hands shaking. Jean was still shocked and mentally processing her reaction. Shaking herself mentally, she looked up at Dr. Grayson's gray eyes. He was observing her intently with no expression.

"Um . . . Do you think we could continue this at another meeting?" she asked, suddenly desperate to leave, to get away from his penetrating gaze that seemed to know what she was experiencing.

"Of course we can," he said smiling gently. He consulted a schedule next to him. "Would tomorrow be too soon?" he asked Jean. "Perhaps two o'clock?"

"Yes, fine. Thank you Doctor," Jean replied as she stood.

"Keith, please, or Dr. Keith if you prefer," he said, showing her to the door. "See you tomorrow then."


Jean made her way home slowly, her mind buzzing, driving robotically. What had happened? She'd been so incensed at the images of those children being sexually exploited, as she should be; as anyone would be. But that one photo, that one image had hit her so differently. Even now she could picture it clearly, a young blond girl with a few sparse blond pubic hairs on her pudendum, plump labia flushed from arousal, perhaps eleven years old, maybe twelve. With her cleft partially open, there was no question it was thick semen leaking from her small vagina, her clitoral hood inflamed as though she'd just had intercourse. She could clearly see the girl's face beaming! Smiling!

Picturing the semen leaking out of the girl's immature pussy made her nipples tingle and tighten again! Jean felt them harden and ache when she pictured the woman about to taste the semen that flowed out and down between small buttocks, her head between slim thighs, mouth open, almost touching.

Three-fifteen and Jean was sitting in the den. The house was quiet, a warm mug of tea in her hands. She was lost in thought, trying desperately to understand.

She just couldn't understand why she reacted to that image, that one image. What was it? Why? Then, in a flash she saw Emma in her mind. That was it! The girl in the photo reminded her of Em! Oh God! And, despite her horror, her nipples stiffened. As she pictured thick white semen leaking from her daughter's immature pussy, Jean felt herself moisten, arousal stirring, nipples aching. Why? Why?

Ashamed but unable to tamp down her arousal, her hand fell to her crotch, holding herself. She pictured Em topless, small newly formed breasts, rosy areolae and small nipples. Her hand popped opened the button of her jeans as she imagined seeing Em's pussy in panties, the contour of her pussy pushing against the front, mounded and sensual. She unzipped her jeans, placing her mug of tea down, scooting her ass to the edge of the armchair. With her hand slipping inside, fingers burrowing under her panties, she pictured Em's panties falling, seeing her barely pubescent pussy with a dusting of darker honey-blond pubic hair.

Feeling disgusted with herself but unable to stop, Jean slipped her finger through her damp cleft, trembling when she touched her inflamed clit. She caressed herself imagining Em lying on the bed, her legs parting. Jean shook and trembled, climaxing hard, imagining Em excited, "look Mom, cum!" Her body cramping and jerking, legs clamping together as she pictured herself bending down and tasting semen leaking from Em's vagina, feeling her daughter's hard little clitoris on her tongue.

Panting, her undies wet, Jean stood and quickly left the den.

That night, next to Paul in bed while he slept, she dwelled on her shame. She thought she now understood why there was pedophilia in the world. She understood the allure of youth, the young and immature, the innocence and purity; the sexual attraction of a child. Based on her reaction, it seemed she was sexually attracted to children. And that made her feel worse. Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought she'd find the concept attractive. And yet here she was. It was so powerful even now the thoughts racing through her mind aroused her. And still she was confused. It wasn't all the images she'd seen. No. It was that one image, just that one image. Why?


Jean sat in Dr. Grayson's sitting room waiting for him to finish pouring tea for both of them, wondering what to say, where to go from here. Her embarrassment was close to the surface.

"So Jean," Dr. Grayson said handing her a cup, "let's talk about yesterday. I noticed you reacted differently to the second binder. Care to talk about it?"

Jean felt the blush rise from her chest to her cheeks, a wave of hotness. "I . . . It's so . . ."

Keith smiled gently, seeing her discomfort. "Jean, don't be embarrassed. Did you know there was a study to measure physical responses to different nude images? It was done quite a while ago, mid-eighties if memory serves. The researchers discovered something surprising. They found 46% of adult males had a sexual response to nude prepubescent and pubescent children, a physical response in their genitals. They also found one third of females had a physical response.

"Of particular note was the subjects were all normally adjusted adults with no stated sexual interest in children. Even more interesting was that most of the subjects claimed not to have reacted to the images, and they probably didn't think they had. But their bodies did.

"So please, don't be ashamed if you reacted to something you saw. I rather hoped you would," he added with a smile.

"You did?" Jean asked, surprised.

"Yes. I imagine if you think about the images you saw yesterday, they might not seem as horrific to you. No doubt you will still see them as unacceptable, but not quite in the same light."

Jean thought about it. Being honest with herself, she really didn't feel the same raw shock she had when first looking at them. Disapproval yes, disgust with some of them yes absolutely, but shock? No. She nodded in agreement.

"Now, let's turn to Paul," Dr. Grayson continued. "He's being bombarded with those images every day. Can you imagine the stress he's under seeing them? His horror, like yours, is what's affecting him. What we cannot know is if he is also wrestling with shame, an embarrassment. If he's like 46% of the male adult population, he has at some point felt a physical reaction to what he's seeing, perhaps something specific he's seen. And, since he's the good man you said he is, that reaction would have created a conflict within him," adding with a soft sympathetic smile, "just like it may have done with you.

"You asked me to help you help him. Unfortunately, without actually meeting him, I am not in a position to help. I will tell you this Jean, it is far better if you could convince him to see me. Failing that, you should try to alleviate the internal struggle he's likely to be going through."

"But how?" Jean hadn't a clue.

"Perhaps talking with him? Perhaps opening up to him about your experience yesterday? If he feels he's not alone, that his reaction is normal and to be expected, it might help."


Emma dried herself after her shower. Bending over she dried her legs, looking at her pussy. Straightening, while looking in the mirror, she let her fingers comb through the small thin bush, more like a dusting she thought, so new, dark honey-blond matching the roots of her hair. She was proud of her small breasts now they'd grown a bit, fitting the palm of her hand nicely, squeezable. It made her feel like a woman finally, although she could do without the periods, she thought, and the bras, she hated those.

While slipping her panties up, she wistfully thought of boys, wondering why the boys her age were so crude. How come she couldn't find one like Dad? He was such a hunk with those eyes, sexy mouth and dark hair falling over his forehead. It made him look boyish. And, until three weeks ago, he behaved like one too she remembered smiling. Dad could make her laugh so hard she'd actually peed her panties once, much to her embarrassment.

But for the last three weeks he'd been different, more subdued. As Emma slipped her fingers under the leg bands of her cotton panties to get rid of the wedgie, she decided to ask Mom what was up.

"Hey, Mom," Emma said walking into the kitchen. "Have you noticed Dad's lost his funny?"

Jean turned from the sink, putting down the potato that she was peeling. "His what?" she asked looking at Emma. Jean couldn't help but feel proud at how Emma was growing. She was at that amazing age when pubescence was appearing in all its glory, yet young enough to project an attractive innocence. She noted Emma's petite breasts mounding her T-shirt and, with a smile, observed they were unfettered by a bra, as usual. She didn't understand why Emma hated bras. At her age she had desperately wanted one.

"His funny. He's lost it. Haven't you noticed he's more serious now?" Emma walked up to stand beside Mom, reaching for the potatoes and peeler, starting to help. "Is he okay?"

Turning back, Jean began dicing them. "It's his job I think," she said. "It's stressful."

"How come?"

"Do you know what he's doing?"

"Yeah. He said something about image assessment and integrating facial recognition software or something like that. I think it's like the police use in England," Emma said, peeling furiously.

"He's doing that, sure. But do you know what for?"

"No. What?"

"It's for the Child Exploitation Section."

"So?" she asked innocently.

"Em, he has to look at pictures of children being sexually exploited every day. It's getting him down."

"But why? He's not a dirty old man." Emma didn't quite understand. It wasn't as though her dad was one of those sickos. Why would it get him down? He wasn't one of those pervs, old men with dirty clothes that hung around the school and playgrounds.

"I can't really explain it Em. Part of it is having to see the images every day."

"But he's doing something good. Why would it make him feel bad?"

Jean paused and half turned to look at Emma. She was maturing and, Jean thought with no small measure of pride, a bright level-headed girl. She watched Emma peeling potatoes; saw the gentle swell of her T-shirt again. Unbidden, one image stole into her mind and she blushed, her nipples tingling.

Emma saw the blush. Thinking it was because Mom was too embarrassed to tell her something about Dad, she immediately spoke. "Come on Mom. Tell me. It's Dad after all. What is it?"

Dicing potatoes, still flushed, she decided to tell Emma. At least it would make her sensitive to what her father was going through.

"I went to see someone, consult them about your father. He was very good. Anyway, he said the problem your father's having isn't necessarily the photos he's seeing."

"Then what is it?" Emma asked, now intrigued and turning towards Mom, potato peeling forgotten.

"Um . . . well, he said your dad might be feeling ashamed."

"Dad? Ashamed? Really? About what?" Emma was now confused. Why would Dad be ashamed of all things?

"Um . . . How can I put this? The doctor said your dad might be ashamed because he reacted to something he'd seen."

Emma digested that and was still confused. "Sorry Mom. Still don't understand."

"Reacted Em. A physical reaction." Seeing the blank look on Emma's face, she clarified, "got turned on."

"Oh." Emma blushed beet red as it sunk in.

There was silence in the kitchen except for the sound of a peeler rasping and the snick of a knife cutting. Emma stared out of the kitchen window, peeling automatically, mind racing a-mile-a-minute trying to assimilate what Mom had just said. It couldn't be possible she thought. Dad one of those dirty old men? No, just not possible. Not Dad.

"Maybe the doctor was wrong, Mom," she offered, hoping.

Jean understood why Emma wanted the doctor to be wrong. But, based on her own experience, she was pretty sure the doctor was right.

"Em, listen. Just because your dad may have reacted to something, it doesn't mean he's bad. The doctor was telling me that 46% of all men have a sexual reaction to young or underage children. It doesn't mean they're bad, just that there was a reaction.

"Okay, Mom," Emma said, still thinking.

The two returned to making dinner, each occupied by thoughts of how they might help Paul.


I trooped through the front door just after six-thirty, the welcoming smell of roasted chicken filling the house. "Hey guys! I'm home," I called out, pulling off my dripping raincoat.

"Dad!" Emma shouted. "We're in the kitchen."

Sticking my head in the kitchen, I saw Jean and Emma sitting at the table, both faces looking up at me. Seeing my favorite two ladies together made me feel good. They were both so pretty in their own way, Jean sexy and seductive with her penetrating eyes, Emma so fresh and youthful and, I noticed again, eyes that were far too mature for her age; just as penetrating.

"Going to shower," I said with a smile, feeling the heat of shame in my face. "I'll be right back."

Standing in the shower, warm water pounding on my back, shoulders, neck and the back of my bowed head, I wished the water would wash away the filth in my mind. Shame poured through me and intensified as I saw my penis thicken and grow erect. God I wished I'd never been transferred.

I had being doing so well, assessing the performance of the software program with cold dispassion, being careful not to look at entire images consciously, just parts that would confirm a match to the results, and doing that as fast as humanly possible. Even the videos had skipped by, shutting them off after a few frames, just enough to confirm a correct catch by the software.

But it had been one image, just one image that had broken through my defenses. I'd been concentrating on facial recognition for that run and one image stopped me cold. The young girl, with the exception of a different hair style and a slightly lighter shade, had been the spitting image of Emma. It was enough to make me pause and look more carefully and that was it.

With water pouring over me, I looked at my straining erection jutting out horizontally from my groin, determined not to touch it. It only got stiffer as I remembered seeing the girl in the photo, about the same age as Emma, kneeling astride an adult facing his feet as he lay on a bed. I remembered the shock when, on seeing her pudendum, lightly sprinkled with honey-blond pubic hair, being penetrated and stretched obscenely around an adult erection, I'd immediately become hard. I couldn't tear my eyes away from that photo. There was something abhorrent in how I was fixated on it, seeing her labia pulled wide, her small clitoris red and inflamed pressing against the thick adult shaft that was almost buried inside her. And I couldn't get the image of her glorious smile, one just like my Emma's, out of my mind.

I felt ashamed again, staring at my erection, desperately willing it away. Yet as I stared at it with embarrassment coursing through me, I saw Emma in the kitchen sitting with Jean, two twins separated by eighteen years, the two most important people in my life. I saw Emma looking at me, amber eyes shining with pleasure and her sweet face alive with personality. God it was hard, so hard not to think of that one image.

It was intruding on my relationship with Jean, the image cropping up whenever we were making love and guilt killing my erection faster than a bucket of ice water. Even worse was the insidious intrusion of that image into my dreams. I felt terrible, terrible.

Stepping out of the shower, I rubbed myself dry with an almost masochistic force. I shoved my erection down in my underwear to hide it wondering what I could do to go back, to forget.

That night in bed, Emma was still pondering what her mom had said. She'd studied Dad all evening, seen the stress he was under; his easy humor missing and a tightness in his demeanor. He seemed stiff too, especially when she hugged him goodnight. But as she studied him she felt sorry for him. He was too good to be hurting just because of something he saw at work. It didn't seem fair.

Besides, if it was normal, how come he was so worried? And thinking that, actually realizing he'd probably had a sexual reaction to an image of sex with a young girl, she began to wonder, wonder evolving into imagining, imagining evolving into dreaming. My dad. Emma's fingers teased herself as she dreamed of Dad seeing a photo of someone that looked like her, of Dad getting turned on by it. It felt good somehow, exciting. He was so kind and considerate, how could that be bad? Her fingers softly rubbed her pussy as she dreamed of Dad looking at her like he looked at Mom, Dad kissing her like he kissed Mom. How nice would that be? How could that be wrong? A little shiver of excitement went through her body. Breathing deeper, faster, one hand cupping her small breast, fingers gently tweaking her nipple, she slipped her other hand under the elastic waistband of her cotton panties, letting them comb through her sparse pubic bush dreaming of Dad holding her bottom like he held Mom's, Dad pinching her like he pinched Mom. Her body shivered again at the thought of Dad slipping his hands under her jeans and panties, warm hands touching her, caressing her bottom.

With her fingers tugging and lightly pinching her aching nipple and her other hand slipping down, drawing her moisture up to make her slippery, she diddled herself imagining Dad in bed with her; Dad slipping under the sheets, Dad hugging and kissing her, his hand caressing her boobs, touching her pussy, murmuring in her ear how much he loved her, murmuring how much he wanted her.

Moaning, Emma pushed her cotton panties down to her thighs, rolled onto her front and, grabbing Eddie, her stuffed elephant, lifted her bottom and shoved it between her legs, squeezing them together, clit tingling. With arousal storming through her, she humped Eddie, rasping her clit on the soft plush fur while she caressed her bare bottom, Daddy's hands holding her. Bottom bouncing, she brought her hands up to her small aching boobs, face pushed into her pillow and, as she imagined Dad murmuring how he'd dreamed of making love to her, how much she turned him on, how sexy she was, Emma climaxed, fingers squeezing her small breasts, pinching her aching nipples, thighs clamping together around Eddie, pussy wet, body shaking and bottom jerking with pleasure, Daddy kissing her, Daddy loving her, God, Daddy loving her!

As Emma relaxed in post-orgasmic peace, her body pleasantly relaxed, she wondered if there was anything she could do to help Dad. She drifted to sleep dreaming of saving him, making him feel better, making everything okay.

Down the hall Jean lay awake and restless. Paul was asleep on his side facing away from her, something new in the last three weeks. She was unsettled. She wanted to help Paul, desperately wanted to help him. He was too good a man to suffer like this, too kind and considerate, too gentle a soul. And yet she didn't know if she had the courage to tell him about her experience, perhaps afraid of what he might think of her. And remembering her experience brought on the same response, her nipples tightening and erecting, stirring her arousal.

Slipping quietly from bed Jean went to the bathroom, closing the door before turning the light on. She stared at herself in the mirror trying to see what was different, because she felt different. Yet she looked the same.

Sitting on the toilet, she tried to analyze her feelings. Carefully she thought back to Dr. Grayson's sitting room, the binders. She still felt discomfort at the images of older men having sex with young children, girls or boys. And thinking of the second binder she still felt discomfort at the images of older women having sex with children.

But somehow that one image, just that one image, aroused her even now. Why? As she pondered it, the truth emerged. Deep down, very deep inside her, she realized it was not that image, not the age of the girl, not the concept of pedophilia that had touched a chord. No, it was the thought of incest that made her react; the thought of familial sex, of her and Emma and, oh God, Paul and Emma. Her pussy throbbed at the thought.

She touched herself remembering semen leaking out of the girl's pussy, imaging it was Paul's cum leaking out of Emma. An electric shock of arousal tore through her. Yes, definitely incest. She played with herself, fingers combing through her pubic bush, caressing her inflamed clit with her fingertip imagining she was about to lick Paul's cum from Emma's little pussy.

And when she imagined Paul cumming in Emma, his delicious semen spurting into her, hot and thick, Jean's body shook violently as she silently climaxed sitting on the toilet, moisture suddenly soaking her panties as she inadvertently squirted, eyes tightly closed, imagining, imagining, God what if?


"How is it bad?" Emma asked as she peeled a navel orange at the kitchen table after school.

Jean paused from cutting the ends off long green beans. "How's what bad?" she asked.

"Having sex when you're young. I know two girls at school that said they had sex when they were only ten. And one of the girls in my class says she has sex with her boyfriend and he's fourteen."

"That's different Em. It's not strictly illegal for kids to have sex together, nor necessarily bad to have sex when you're young, but it is for adults to have sex with kids."


"It's called exploitation. The adult is exploiting the child."

"But what if they love each other?"

"Kids are too young to understand love, so love is no excuse."

"So I'm too young to understand I love Dad? How does that make any sense?"

That gave Jean pause. "That's a different love, Honey," she answered, not quite sure herself.

"How? I love Dad. How's that different?"

Jean was getting slightly uncomfortable with the drift of their conversation, too close to a secret she was now carrying. Hoping to shut it off she said unthinkingly "It doesn't matter. You're really not mature enough to be thinking of sex anyway."

Emma laughed. "Come on Mom! I have boobs, pubic hair and periods. How's that different from you?" she added with a grin.

Jean was stumped again and couldn't help but feel pride in Emma's logic. "Okay, you've got me. I haven't the foggiest."

"So I go back to my question. How's it bad? If I'm mature enough to have periods, why should it be bad if I want to have sex?"

"It's not, Em. I told you that."

"So if I wanted to have sex with an older man it would be okay too."

"Em, it's illegal."

"But not bad, right?"

Jean wondered where her logic was coming from. "That depends. If you were not being exploited I guess not. But it would still be illegal."

"Even if I loved the man?"

Jean smiled. "Still illegal."

"Only if someone knew," Emma responded. Remembering last night, she looked at her mom for a moment then asked, "Do you think Dad saw a photo of someone that looked like me?"

There was silence in the kitchen, the sound of the wall clock ticking away the seconds sounding loud as Jean stared at Emma.

"Oh m'God! That's it, isn't it?" Emma blurted out.

"No," Jean replied immediately, automatically, staring at Emma, watching her cheeks flush red with embarrassment. Yet, looking closer, Jean saw a gleam of excitement in her eyes that belied pure embarrassment. Was it possible? Was it possible Emma liked the idea?

Jean blushed herself when she felt a spike of arousal at the thought.

"How do you know it's not?" Emma asked, wondering. "You saw the photo?"

"No. I haven't seen anything."

Emma wondered why Mom was blushing. "But it could be that, couldn't it?" she asked.

"Would that bother you, Em?" Jean asked carefully. The blush intensifying on Emma's face and shy smile was a clear answer and Jean's nipples tightened in her bra as she understood. Emma liked the idea! Good Lord, she liked it!

Emma fidgeted on the chair to rub her pussy. It was pulsing gently, pleasantly, as she thought of Dad maybe getting excited by a picture that reminded him of her. Would it bother her? Not likely, she thought replaying her daydream last night. Imagine having Dad interested in her, not some stand-in stupid boy, but Dad, sexy Dad. "Not really," she answered.

Mother and daughter sat staring at each other. There was silence at the kitchen table, both thinking, wondering.

"Is that bad?" Emma eventually spoke, her voice soft, wary and questioning, hesitant.

Jean sighed and smiled softly. "No sweetheart. You like your dad, don't you?"

Emma nodded slightly, still flushed. She debated saying more. She'd never had secrets from Mom before, and last night her daydream had been so much more exciting than her usual ones about Dad. Steeling herself she told her, "Sometimes I dream of him," adding quickly "You're so lucky, Mom. When I see how he is with you, I wish I could find someone just like him."

Jean grinned despite the pulse of excitement that went through her. "You never will. Your dad is one of a kind," she said almost kiddingly. She appreciated Emma's honesty. "It's normal to have feelings for your dad, Em. It's okay." And just to confirm her suspicions she added with a smile, "You'll find someone eventually."

"Not like Dad," burst from Emma, her voice reflecting her strong feelings.

Mother and daughter looked at each other, assessing and probing in the silence. Emma tried to understand why Mom wasn't reacting affronted and why she still had a slight blush. Jean wondered if Emma really understood the significance of the feeling she'd been expressing.

Two sets of dark amber eyes looked at each other, two faces and personalities almost identical, only separated by eighteen years, and it was if a flash of understanding passed between them, as if in that instant clarity appeared, understanding. They both blushed bright red at exactly the same time.

Jean was the first to speak. "You're a tomato, Em," she said with a smile.

"Speak for yourself," Emma replied with a giggle.

Jean's smile faded. "You really like your dad that way?"

Emma thought for a while and nodded. "You really don't mind, Mom?"

"This may surprise you, Em, but I don't. And to be honest, I think it's exciting. Sorry if that seems weird." Jean felt her arousal spike at the idea of incest, so new to her, so exciting.

Emma felt relief wash through her and grinned. "Not weird. Nice actually. I like you Mom, you're pretty cool."

Emma went back to peeling and eating her orange, Jean to cutting off the ends of the fresh long green beans. It was a comfortable silence that lasted for all of six minutes. Suddenly Emma thought of something.

"Mom, do you think we could help Dad somehow? It would be nice to see him get his funny back."

"I don't know. I'm not sure how," Jean said, being honest.

"I've been thinking, Mom. If Dad's hurting because he saw a picture of someone that looks like me, can't we make him feel better if he knows it's okay, that we're okay with it?"

"How would we do that? I mean I'd really like him to feel better Em, but how?" Jean asked even though she had some ideas. She wanted Emma to propose something, see what Emma wanted.

"Um, I thought maybe if he knew I liked the idea that he was turned on by someone that looked like me?"

Jean smiled. "Okay Em, let's talk."


Sitting on the couch, I enjoyed the unusual arrangement. Jean and Emma had surprised me when they shoved me to the middle and sat on either side. But, with my arms around my two favorite people in the world, I felt relaxed, more relaxed than I had in almost a month.

Watching Two and a Half Men I wallowed in the sweet sound of Emma's giggles, enjoying her body shaking against me. When Jean casually slipped her hand from on top of my knee to the inside of my thigh I felt it in my penis, a delicious feeling of arousal that strengthened as her hand caressed the inside of my thigh gently with familiarity.

It even felt good when Emma put her hand over mine after I rested it on her upper arm. It felt better when her thumb gently stroked the back of my hand, a gesture I found surprisingly erotic. This was heaven I thought.

Then it all came crashing down, an image forcing its way insidiously into my mind. Groaning, heat flushing my cheeks, my partial erection faded.

"You okay, Honey?" Jean asked, hearing Paul groan.

"I'm fine Jean, just tired I guess."

That night Jean slipped into Emma's room after Paul fell asleep, Emma awake and waiting for her.

"Couldn't we just tell him, Mom?" Emma asked, wondering if Mom had come up with a plan.

Jean slipped under the covers and hugged Emma to her side with an arm around her shoulder, enjoying the feel of her daughter's slender body against her. "Em, your Dad's a bit of a traditionalist. We wouldn't want him to react in the wrong way. That might finish it."

"Then how can we help? If we can't talk about it, what do we do?" She shivered slightly, liking the feel of Mom's fingers resting under her arm, just touching the side of her boob. Someone else touching her, even if it was only the side of her boob, was exciting. Imagine if it was Dad!

"I've been thinking about it. I don't think we can just come out and discuss it with him. He'll clam up and probably try to deny feeling anything. He'd react to protect us I think.

"But, if he learns about how we feel, how we accept him being aroused by images that might remind him of you, and learns it by accident, I think it might work. He might be more accepting of the three of us being together." Jean felt a tingle of arousal as her finger gently moved on the side of Emma's firm little breast, feeling naughty. Touching her daughter sexually, how delicious.

The idea excited Emma. "How?" she asked enthusiastically, her mind picturing Dad kissing her, his arms around her, his hands holding her bottom. How exciting.

"Well, I think he needs to overhear us having a conversation. That way he won't be forced to admit anything and we can indirectly tell him how we feel, how we're interested in him, you know, like we talked about this afternoon."

Emma shuddered slightly when Mom's fingertip touched her nipple, liking the feeling so much she turned her body slightly. Her eyes closed when she pushed her boob into Mom's hand, her nipple hard.

"So," she started, eyes closed, "we need to talk together when he's somewhere near?" Unable to resist the arousal she was feeling, Emma put her hand over Mom's, pushing slightly to get more stimulation on her small breast.

"Uh-huh," Jean answered, caressing her daughters amazingly firm little breast, her own pussy throbbing as she clenched her thighs together. "We could be talking in the kitchen when he comes home."

"When?" Emma whispered softly, nipples now aching, surprised at how turned on she was from her mom's hand.

"I thought Friday. How does that sound?"

"Good Mom, feels good," Emma whispered.

Jean tilted Emma's face up, looking at her daughter carefully, her own nipples aching and hard. "Are you okay with this?" she asked gently.

Emma was aroused, really aroused. The combination of imagining sex with Dad and Mom's hand caressing her aroused her beyond belief. Somehow Mom's hand was so gentle, warm and comforting, familiar. But exciting, too. Even more exciting was how Mom appeared to like the idea of her and Dad. How cool was that? Wow, me, Mom and Dad!

"Feels good, Mom," she answered, reinforcing her answer by pushing Mom's hand against her aching boob harder.

Two bodies, almost twins, separated by eighteen years, slid down in the bed, heads resting on soft pillows and turned towards each other, one a mother, one a daughter.

Two sets of dark amber eyes looked at each other, heat and arousal in both. Slowly, unspoken, they moved slightly, looking at each other, their faces nearer. Slowly they both moved closer, closer. Emma's hand settled on her mom's hip tentatively, her mom's on her waist. Slowly, slowly lips touched, soft lips lightly pressing against each other.

Emma moaned quietly when Mom's hand slipped up to cup her aching boob, Mom's finger rasping across her stiff nipple. She moaned again when a soft warm tongue licked her lips, a hard surge of arousal pulsing through her making her clench her thighs.

She felt naughty, naughty, when she slid her hand up, sexual excitement jolting her when she cupped Mom's full mature breast, thrilled by her large, stiff nipple. Hearing Mom moan added to her excitement.

Two tongues touched, heads tilting, bodies drawing closer together. Two tongues probed, entering open mouths, tongues gently sucking, soft moans heard in the bedroom. A daughter's hand caressed and explored, felt the shape of mature breasts with firm, prominent nipples. A mother's hand caressed and explored, felt the shape and youthful firmness of petite newly pubescent breasts.

Unbidden, nightshirts slipped up two bodies, slipped over heads to be tossed to the floor. Maturity took the lead, gently pushing the daughter onto her back, bending over, a warm mouth descending to youthful breasts, delicious breasts, firm breasts, small breasts. Maturity taught, sucking gently, tongue swirling and teasing, hand softly squeezing, knowing just how to excite.

Youth learned, pushing a mother onto her back, leaning over, pussy pulsing and moist as she tasted a mother's breast again, eleven years after being suckled. She showed her skill, imitating the erotic touches, sucking gently, tongue swirling, her hand softly caressing, amazed at how arousing it was.

Two sets of lips touched, a mother moaning, aroused, aroused, a daughter feverish, hot, excited. Hands traced down bodies, one feeling the soft sexy curves of maturity, touching the waist band of silky panties, feeling the soft pillow of pubic hair underneath, the fullness of a mature pussy and, with a clench of her own thighs, feeling the moisture of a mother's arousal dampening the gusset. A mature hand traced down feeling the slender firmness and silky smooth skin of youth, the flat firm tummy, the edge of cotton panties, the seductive rise of a young pubis and, with her nipples aching painfully, the outline of a young cleft curving down sensuously to a small damp spot of a daughter's arousal.

Maturity taught by example, Jean's fingers tracing Emma's small cleft. Emma followed, learning, duplicating, fingertips feeling moisture, feeling the outline of inner lips, tracing her mom's cleft. Jean felt the sweet agony of pleasure in her pussy, thrilled even more that it was her daughter touching her. Passion and need grew, becoming urgent, wanting to feel her daughter's little pussy, fuelled by an image of semen leaking.

She slipped her hand under the soft cotton waist of youthful panties, feeling silky skin under her fingers as they slipped down, the seductive rise of an adolescent pubis, arousal surging as she felt her daughter's silky new pubic hairs. Moaning, she kissed Emma, her tongue probing insistently between small lush lips as her hand cupped a preteen pussy, Emma's mound filling her palm, soft and warm, seductive. Her tongue probed Emma's small open mouth deeper when her fingertip slipped between plump labia, gliding down, touching a firm little clit, gliding down, touching moisture, Emma's arousal slippery and warm.

Her tongue intertwined with Emma's. She felt a pulse of pleasure when Emma moaned into her mouth just as her fingertip touched the tiny entrance to Emma's adolescent vagina.

Emma was overwhelmed with sensations, her nipples hard and hurting, her pussy throbbing. When Mom touched her clit she twitched, a spike of pleasure. But feeling Mom's finger at her vagina made her dizzy with desire. Quickly she pushed her hand under her mom's silky panties, combing her fingers through a soft crinkly pubic bush, slipping them down through a very slippery slit, touching a hard clit, slipping down, down.

Moaning into Mom's mouth, feeling hot, need pulsing, she gently eased her finger into her Mom's vagina, showing her what she wanted Mom to do, what she suddenly needed so desperately, something inside her, her body crying out with need. Emma's small heart thudded in her chest as she pushed, her finger sinking into a hot, moist, slippery sheath, so silky, gripping her finger so hard. She broke the kiss, inhaling sharply, hips jerking when Mom slid the tip of her finger inside her, a small jab of pain as her hymen broke, sensual pain adding to her arousal, God so exciting.

Jean could feel her orgasm approaching. Touching her daughter was so thrilling. Incest, this was incest! And Emma touching her, caressing her pussy, sliding her finger into her was so arousing. But, when she tickled Emma's clit, Emma climaxed, the build-up too much, her bottom surging off the bed, moaning loudly. Jean's orgasm stormed in and smashed into her when she imagined her finger was Paul's penis penetrating Emma's little vagina, imagined it swelling, spurting his hot delicious semen deep into his daughter.

Two bodies surged, twisted and thrashed on the twin bed as climaxes tore through them, heavy breathing, groans and gasps of pleasure filling the air, the bed squeaking as it shook from the frantic movements of intense, intense orgasms.


Sun slanted in through the curtained kitchen window, softened by the gauzy material. Jean and Emma sat at the table, Jean with a mug of Darjeeling tea, Emma with a Coke. Both were excited, dark amber eyes glistening, smiling at each other. It was Friday. Six thirty. Paul was due home any minute.

"Remember, try to act normal, okay?" Jean said.

"It's hard, Mom. This is so exciting," Emma said, feeling tightness in her chest, nervous butterflies in her tummy.

They heard the front door open.

I was dragging my butt as I opened the front door. It had been a long, long week. But I was pleased. Another couple of days of beta testing and we were ready to implement the system. It would protect the police from having to look at every image, help insulate them from the harsh effects of seeing children being exploited sexually. With that done, maybe I could get out of that department.

"I'm home," I yelled, hanging my jacket up on the wall hook. When no one answered I wondered where my girls were.

Heading towards the kitchen I heard murmuring that slowly clarified into talking. Jean and Emma were talking in low voices. It was so unusual I paused and strained to listen. Why would they both be talking in sotto voce?

"He'd never agree, Mom," Emma said softly.

"Honey, your dad loves you. I'm sure he'd understand. Especially if he knows I support you," Jean replied.

I was intrigued. What were they talking about? What wouldn't I agree to? I'd do anything for my daughter. She knew that.

"But Mom, he might not understand. I want him to kiss me so bad it hurts."

"I know sweetheart. I remember how it can hurt to desire someone that much," Jean sympathized.

My heart thumped. Em? Em wanted me to kiss her? I always kissed her.

"How can I show Dad how much I love him?" Emma asked. "It's not fair that you get to have him hold your bottom and I can't. I love him too," she complained.

"I know Em. Maybe you should ask him. I know he's an ass lover. I'm sure he'd like your bum."

"Really?" she said, her voice becoming excited. "Do you think Dad would slip his hands inside my jeans? Oh! And maybe under my panties? God Mom, it would be so exciting to have Daddy holding my bum," her voice now animated.

"It would be even better if he was kissing you at the same time, Em. Your Dad's such a good kisser. He makes me melt every time." Jean giggled, "And it gets me wet too."

I stood nailed to the floor, holding my breath. My daughter wanted me to feel her bottom? Jean? Jean? What was up with her? Suggesting to Emma it would be better if I was kissing my daughter? What was going on?

"Do you really think Daddy will like the panties you bought me? How should I show them to him?"

"Well, I know he likes bikini panties, and he really likes satin, so yes, your dad will love your new panties. Maybe if you put on a long T-shirt . . . No. I tell you what. I'll give you one of his dress shirts. That will show off your sexy legs and give him peeks at your panties," Jean said enthusiastically. "Remember, don't wear your bra. Oh. Look who I'm talking to. You never wear one at home," she said, adding, "naughty girl."

Emma giggled.

Despite my intense surprise, I got an erection, a hard erection tight in my pants imagining my twelve-year-old daughter in sexy little satin panties. It strained even more from Jean's complicit participation. God, my wife seemed to be an active plotter. She seemed to be supportive!

"Great idea, Mom. I'll change right after dinner. This is exciting!" Emma said with pure delight.

With my pants tented, I crept out the front door, my mind swirling, imagining. God, imagine! I quickly reached into my pants to push my erection down, hiding it. Entering loudly and slamming the front door closed, I tried again. "I'm home," I yelled.

"In here," Jean yelled.

Poking my head around the doorframe I was greeted by two gorgeous faces, four dark amber eyes glistening, two big smiles. My heart throbbed at the sight. My penis throbbed at the sight. "Gonna shower, okay?" I asked, hiding my erection behind the door frame.

"Hurry, Paul. We'll be eating soon," Jean said with a sly smile.

Standing in the shower, water beating down on my bent head, I held my painful erection, stroking it slowly, images of Emma in little satin bikini panties running through my mind. I stroked myself faster replaying my wife's encouragement to Emma; Jesus, my wife a complicit partner. And, when an image stole into my mind, Emma astride me facing my feet, my penis stretching her, buried inside her pussy, I came hard, semen shooting out and splattering against the tile. I stroked and came hard, visions of Emma's sweet smile filling my mind.

Drying off I felt no shame, only arousal, mental arousal, not physical. I was amazed. Feeling shame-free for the first time in weeks lifted my heart and took a massive weight off my chest. I felt good, excited.

While Paul was showering, Emma and Jean giggled together.

"Do you think it worked?" Emma asked enthusiastically.

Jean smiled. She'd seen the glint in Paul's magnetic dark brown eyes, something that had been missing for too long. "Yes," she said with a sigh of relief and satisfaction, "it worked, Em."

At dinner Emma watched Dad, completely absorbed by him, his eyes smiling at her making her shiver in excitement. His puns and laughter made her heart thump; Dad's funny was coming back. Glancing at Mom, she saw Mom's eyes happy, glistening. And, as she ate her peach pie, Emma felt the first tickle of arousal, a slight tightening of her areolae, as she thought about changing.

As soon as she could, she excused herself and raced up stairs. Stripping quickly, she pulled out the white satin bikini panties Mom had bought. They felt so soft and slippery as she pulled them up, her pussy tingling with the feel of them at her crotch. Briefly she slipped her hands over her bottom, thinking of Dad caressing her bum. Nice. Moving faster, heart pounding, she put on his white dress shirt, rolled up the sleeves, brushed her hair and, pausing to check herself in the floor length mirror, undid one extra button. Nodding in satisfaction, she left her room.

I was pleasantly surprised when Jean handed me a Scotch and soda after dinner and led me by the hand to the couch. Sitting together side by side with my arm around her was relaxing. I couldn't help looking at my gorgeous wife and think about the conversation I'd overheard. It surprised me tremendously, my wife exhibiting a liberal attitude I'd never suspected her of. And yet, it excited me. I could not deny what I was feeling, my mind buzzing.

When she nestled to my side, I bent to kiss her sexy mouth, playing twister with her agile tongue, growing partially erect. Getting randy, I cupped her full breast, surprised to find it bra-less.

"Nice," I said with a smile when the kiss broke, my thumb rubbing a stiff aroused nipple.

Jean grinned. "The kiss or the breast you're still holding?" she asked. Her eyes turned away from me before I could answer, a welcoming smile forming.

Looking up, I inhaled sharply. Emma stood at the door of the den, sweet Emma. Her honey-blond hair glowed as if it had been brushed a hundred times, dark amber eyes watched me apprehensively below dark eyebrows, sensual mouth relaxed. My dress shirt made Emma look smaller, more petite. Yet the distinct seductive mounds on her slim chest added sexiness. Slender long legs and bare feet beneath the tails of my shirt made her look like a little minx and I had no trouble whatsoever imagining that the gap between her sexy thighs went all the way up to her crotch.

Emma made my heart beat hard. Inadvertently I squeezed Jean's breast.

"Ouch," she said sharply. "Let go. Honestly Paul, you'd think you've never seen your daughter before."

"Not like that," I answered heatedly. "Gorgeous, simply gorgeous. When did that happen?" I asked with a broad smile.

The smile that beamed from Emma's face tore at my heart. Watching her run to me, hair bouncing made my heart sing, and catching her in my arms, her small body pushing me back against the couch, made my heart ache.

Nuzzling my face into her hair, I inhaled my daughters scent deeply and immediately got a full erection. I saw Jean grin when she felt it, her hand on the inside of my thigh at my crotch. But better, so much better was seeing my pretty daughter look at me, seeing my pretty daughter slip her arms around my neck, seeing my pretty daughter's sweet sexy smile, hearing my pretty daughter say "Daddy" softly. And even better was feeling my pretty, pretty daughter kiss me gently with her silky soft lips.

My arms circled her, holding her slender body lightly. When my sexy Emma murmured and a tiny tongue brushed along my closed lips I shuddered, my erection throbbing and hard, leaking into my underwear, arousal storming me. Parting my lips I tasted my daughter, her sweet seductive flavor. I touched her warm tongue with mine. Lord, I was kissing my twelve-year-old little girl! It sent another hard shudder through me. My erection was now pulsing and painful it was so hard. I carefully cupped her petite breast over the dress shirt, feeling how small and firm it was, feeling her little nipple raised and hard. Feeling slightly light-headed, I gently slipped my tongue into my daughter's warm, moist mouth, her small mouth. And God, then she sucked it lightly.

But shame on me, shame. When Emma's small tongue pushed into my mouth just as my wife caressed my erection through my pants, I came, groaning in delight and frustration as semen jetted out hot and wet into my underwear. I fondled and kissed my daughter as I spurted again and again, Jean's hand caressing my pulsing penis, a large wet stain growing.

Gasping for breath I broke the kiss. "Oh God," burst from me as my orgasm peaked and finally passed, pleasure and frustration flooding me. I could feel hot semen covering my penis and, surprising me, I was still hard.

"Did Daddy . . .?" Emma asked Mom excitedly.

Jean smiled, her hand still on Paul's erection over the warm damp stain of his semen. It had felt so good to feel his penis hard, pulsing and cumming. "Yup, he did."

"Gawd Mom. Not fair. I only kissed him," she said with a tinge of frustration and pride. While Dad's kiss was spectacular, he hadn't held her bottom, or slipped his hands under her panties. Although, on second thought, he had caressed her boob and that had felt fantastic. But she wanted more, more.

"Don't worry, Honey," Jean said with a grin and a squeeze of Paul's erection, "he's not finished yet. Here, feel."

"Hey!" I said. "I'm here too. Don't I get a say in what happens?"

My two gorgeous ladies giggled, Jean answering me. "Nope. You have no say in what happens," and proceeded to prove it by guiding my twelve-year-old daughter's hand down to my erection.

Having Emma's delicate hand gently trace and fondle my erection renewed my desire, even though I'd just cum. There was something so innocently seductive about my daughter fondling my penis. But before I could express the intense appreciation I was feeling, my two ladies rose from the couch, almost as if a hidden signal had been given.

"Come," Jean said softly, a small sexy smile on her lips. Two hands reached for me, one, my surprisingly adventurous wife, the other my sexy little kitten, Emma. They led me like a lamb, my eyes riveted to the sensuous movement of two sexy bottoms. They led me to the master bedroom, led me to the bed.

I stood next to the bed watching as two pretty, pretty ladies started unbuttoning my shirt, one from the top, one from the bottom. I watched dark amber eyes glistening. My heart skipped when I caught a glimpse of the sides of Emma's petite breasts down a dress shirt.

Then Emma unbuckled my belt. My erection was back to straining and it only got worse with the sound of a zipper being pulled down. Jean's warm hands slipped inside the waist and pushed my pants down. They fell in a heap at my ankles, unnoticed. Emma inhaled sharply when my erection tented my semen-stained boxers.

"Go ahead," Jean whispered to her, encouraging our daughter.

With exquisite slowness that had me panting, Emma reached for the waist band, pulling it out from my stomach. Glancing quickly up at me, eyes shining with excitement, she pulled the front down, my erection pulled down. Suddenly it popped clear and bounced up. I was so, so turned on it rose to a forty-five degree angle, something it hadn't achieved since I was a teenager.

"Mom," she whispered breathlessly.

"I know. Nice huh?" Jean said with a mischievous grin, inflaming my passion more.

Jean pulled my boxers down, Emma still frozen, her eyes locked on my erection. Stepping out of my clothes, Jean pushed my chest gently until I sat on the edge of the bed.

"Ready Honey?" she asked Emma, getting a nod and a shy smile in response.

My heart thumped hard, so hard I could hear it in my ears. Emma's head bent down, her honey-blond hair falling forward. I could see the shy smile curling her sweet lips and it only aroused me more. But I found myself holding my breath as, button by button, Emma undid the white dress shirt. God but I wanted to see her breasts, see how petite they were, how firm. I wanted to see their shape and see her nipples.

Emma teased, the front falling open, hiding her widely spaced breasts. My erection bobbed at the sight of satin bikini panties, white with a sheen that highlighted the remarkable rise of her pubic mound, that hugged her pussy with deep creases at the edges and, oh God, emphasized the remarkably sexy vulva, a rounded mound between a gap at her crotch.

I was feverish at the sight; completely riveted, so riveted I didn't see Jean undressing. It wasn't until Jean's hands reached around Emma from behind and held the shirt edges that I managed to drag my eyes back up, paying careful attention to a sexy tummy, innie belly button, and Emma's eyes glowing with pleasure despite the slight rosy blush. She was beautiful, beautiful. Chaste, virginal and as sexy as hell. My sweet Emma.

My gasp was involuntary when Jean slipped the dress shirt off Emma's slim shoulders and let me see her petite breasts. Pubescence had graced Emma with startling breasts, perfect twins that sat high, wide and proud. Perfect mounds, small, firm, topped with rosy pink areolae. Perfect adolescent breasts with small nipples stiff with arousal.

I couldn't believe my little girl had shape, sexy shape. Her hips flared slightly but enough to define a waist. Her bottom curved from her sides seductively, merging into the soft taper of slim thighs. Her pudendum, God her pudendum, so prominent, so damned sexy, and now I thought I could see the shadow of her cleft, just a hint. Clear precum was sliding down my shaft I was so excited. My daughter, Emma, my twelve-year-old, was a Goddess, a barely pubescent Goddess!

At that moment I couldn't imagine anything sexier; nothing in the world. But with an unheard whisper from Jean, with a shy sexy smile, Emma whispered, "Look, Daddy," and turned slowly, her delightfully perky bottom pointing towards me, slender back, gorgeous legs. The air became too heavy to breathe when her hands slowly slipped sexy satin bikini panties down, the top of her butt crack appearing. The air was too heavy when she slowly bent at the waist, satin slipping over a bottom that curved into a wondrous, sensual rounded shape, two sweet little buttocks slowly revealed.

Darkness edged my vision as panties slipped down slender thighs and, God forbid, Emma's pussy appeared, plump, thick labia with a slight dusting of dark honey-blond pubic hairs. It slowly, erotically pushed out between her thighs as she bent fully, panties at her ankles. Suddenly I was worried I'd cum again. I saw the tip of her clitoris nestled between her sexy labia, nestled deep in her closed cleft. I saw the dip leading to her vagina and, as her seductive buttocks parted slightly, when she was fully bent over, the dark ring of her anus.

Jean broke me out of my spell.

"Em, I think your dad needs a kiss."

God damn right I did. And a lot more, I thought feverishly.

Emma straightened and turned to me, moving closer. A beatific smile grew when I held my arms out, reached for my daughter's delicate hands and drew her to me between my parted knees. Feeling her arms wrap around my neck, watching the excitement shining in soft sexy eyes and hearing her sigh, "Daddy," so lovingly before bending to kiss me had my heart skipping beats, a heart attack near.

Emma's kiss was soft and sexy, her small tongue silky soft, so arousing, so arousing. The bed dipped on my left as Jean settled next to me, Emma breaking the kiss to sit on my right thigh, seductive adolescent bare buttocks resting on me. Jesus I was so aroused, so horny.

My arms held two gorgeous ladies, one my sexy wife, one my sexy daughter. I was the richest man in the world and I might have stayed holding my two naked ladies if Jean hadn't leaned in.

"Lay back, Honey," she said to me gently, extricating herself from my arm.

I hugged Emma's petite body, laying back, rolling to the middle of the bed, drawing my sexy little kitten to my side. Jean lay next to me, her hand reaching for my erection, caressing softly, her thumb rubbing the tip and spreading slippery precum.

Suddenly, even though I knew what I wanted, even though I knew I wanted to have sex with my daughter, the thought making my erection bob in excitement, I didn't know how to proceed. What was I supposed to do? How? How exactly does one have sex with a young girl?

I opened my mouth to ask. Jean hushed me with a finger to my lips. "Shhh. Let us Paul," she said. "Ready Em?"


"Just like we talked about," Jean said encouragingly.

"Okay, Mom."

Emma rose from my side, perky little breasts so proud, shy excited smile; Emma, my daughter, naked. She rose to her knees and bent over, soft honey-blond hair falling onto my face. With one finger she pushed her hair behind a delicate ear, smiling at me softly. I shuddered when she again whispered, "Daddy," with so much love before bending to kiss me. I felt her gentle kiss from my lips to the tip of my erection. But before I reached up to pull her to me, she broke the kiss, rising. Moving down on her knees, she rested a warm little hand on my stomach, sexy, sexy eyes looking at me with such love, such desire.

Breathlessly I watched my daughter raise her knee and swing it over me, her pudendum spreading, labia parting to reveal the long clitoral hood that seemed to fill half of her small cleft. Breathlessly I watched her straddle me, Jean's hand holding my erection down to my stomach, aligning it perfectly when Emma settled. God but the feel of her amazingly plump little pussy molding around my shaft was unbelievably exciting. It was unbelievably erotic to see her barely pubescent labia bulge out and slide to each side of me, every small move visible through sparse pubic hairs. My erection looked like it was a hotdog resting in Emma's seductive warm bun. Too exciting, too exciting.

"Jean," I moaned, "I can't take much more." I didn't think I could last. It was so damned arousing I knew I was close, very close. I couldn't remember being so excited.

"Don't move, Sweetheart," Jean instructed Emma, clenching her damp thighs at the sight of her husband's erection sticking out from her daughter's crotch, clear precum streaming down as it swelled and pulsed.

"Kay," Emma replied breathlessly, holding herself absolutely still despite the strong pulses of pleasure hitting her pussy. Dad's penis felt so hard, hot, so big, and her clit was aching with need. I'm sitting on Daddy's erection! She shivered with excitement, nipples hurting, and boobs suddenly feeling swollen and heavy.

With the exception of heated breathing there was absolute silence in the bedroom. Jean was trembling slightly as she looked at her husband's wonderful erection nestled to her daughter's small pussy, imagining it penetrating her, imagining it swelling and spurting his delicious cum deep in her and, oh God, imagining licking his semen out of Emma, sucking her tiny vagina, tasting her husband's thick seed.

Emma was trembling slightly, trying to calm herself. Her daddy's erection felt warm and hard against her and little pulses were making her pussy leak moisture as she wondered what it would feel like when Daddy pushed into her. Would it hurt? Could she stretch enough? Oh God, would she feel Daddy cumming inside her? A surge of arousal stormed through her body at the thought. She could feel her muscles trembling in anticipation.

I had my eyes tightly shut, mentally composing computer code in my mind, trying to desperately tamp down an urge to roll Emma onto her back and thrust into her. I pushed thoughts about how tight she might be out of my mind. Too close, I was too close, right on the edge.

Cool air on my erection forced my eyes open, Emma rising, her hands on my stomach.

"Remember, Honey, slowly, okay?" Jean reminded Emma as she guided her husband's throbbing erection.

"Okay, Mom," Emma panted, rising, body shaking when Mom slipped Daddy's penis through her slit. A sharp pulse of pleasure hit her when it rubbed across her sensitive, inflamed clit. Her little heart pounded in her chest as the large soft tip nestled into the small indent in front of her vagina. She moved her bottom in little circles, pushing gently until it was at the exact spot, touching the entrance, stretching her lips, excited by how big Daddy felt. God, sex with Daddy!

My eyes were riveted to the sight of my erection at Emma's crotch. It looked impossibly large, the head almost as wide as her labia. Yet I knew from an image, just one image, that she could stretch.

I held my daughter's slender hips gently, soft silky skin, warm. I could feel little tremors in her body. "Careful, Sweetheart," I whispered heatedly. Emma glanced at me briefly with a smile before looking down at her pussy again, both hands on my stomach.

The crown of my erection was nestled to my daughter's tiny opening, silky labia hugging half the crown, but I could feel no opening, I couldn't feel her entrance. It was as though I was pressed to the wrong place.

"Small movements, Emma, just like we talked about," Jan whispered heatedly, clenching her thighs, clit pulsing.

Hearing the heat in Jean's voice pleased me to no end. My wife was aroused too!

Through my hands and pressure on my erection, being held vertically in my wife's warm grip, I felt Emma push down slightly, rise, push down slightly, and rise again. Suddenly lubrication seemed to work. A tight, tight opening squeezed the tip of my penis. Emma trembled and rose slightly easing the pressure, pushed down slowly and, like a flower blooming, her tiny, tiny entrance relaxed, a tight ring slipped down, tight, so tight. Suddenly Emma sighed as pressure eased and I felt the head of my erection gripped by pure, moist velvet. My crown was held in a hot vice. God, I was penetrating my little girl.

"It's in, Mom," Emma whispered heatedly before moving gently, testing her way, letting lubrication ease the penetration, stretching, stretching, feeling Daddy go deeper, stretching her, God so full. My Daddy.

I had never experienced anything like it in my life. Feeling myself penetrating my daughter's exceptionally tight vagina was unbelievable; slow torture. I felt the tight ring of her opening slip down my shaft slowly, felt the silky walls inside her rub my crown erotically as they parted. I felt every fraction of an inch as Emma pushed, lifted, pushed. Gradually I was slipping into heaven.

Seeing Emma's labia stretched around me, her little cleft almost completely filled and her deep red clitoris kissing my shaft stirred my climax before I had fully penetrated her.

I couldn't hold on for much longer, my erection already swelling. Reaching for my daughter, I brought her slender body down, holding my Emma to me, inhaling her sweet aroma, her soft cheek on my shoulder, warm breath. When my hands caressed her back, slipping down to cup perfect little buttocks, Emma sighed, pushing her sweet bottom down, her arms slipping under my arms to hold my shoulders. She sighed again, "Daddy." I felt my erection slip in fully, completely sheathed, touching her deepest part, tight velvet gripping me, her pussy pressed to my groin. I swelled inside her. So damned good.

Her slow little hip movement drew my shaft out slightly, a small shove pushed me in. Emma started moving with more force aided by my guiding hands on her little bum and leaking precum, longer withdrawals, lifting her bottom and reversing, pushing back down, her adolescent vagina massaging the length of my erection, her tight, tight opening slipping like a rubber band on my shaft milking me. She moved faster and I could feel her breath panting hot on my chest. She moved with more urgency, no longer sliding but shoving slightly, her sweet little bottom curling to push me deep, deep, hips turning to rub her clit. Emma's hands held my shoulders and I felt her start to pull. Long rhythmic strokes, hands tugging my shoulders, sweet little bottom moving.

I held on for dear life, wanting my daughter to cum first, wanting to feel her adolescent vagina caressing my hard erection forever, feel her soft vaginal walls stroking me. I wanted to stay buried in heaven, but when she cried out, "Daddy," and thrust herself down hard on my erection, her buttocks clenching and my penis pushed tight to her cervix, my erection swelled, pressure in my groin suddenly released and with a blinding explosion of pleasure, semen ripped up and exploded into her. Emma pulled up and shoved herself down hard, hard, crying out "Daddy," again.

"God cumming, Sweetheart," I gasped as my penis swelled and another painful pulse shook my body, glorious bliss pounding me as I spurted deep, deep into my daughter. The floodgates opened and I fucked her hard and fast, holding her little bottom, thrusting and spurting semen deep into her with each desperate hunch, shoving and cumming, stars bursting. Oh God, cumming, cumming Baby!

It was little murmurs that stirred me from a post-orgasmic doze, my body completely relaxed, muscles feeling like liquid and pure pleasure filtering through me. I could smell sex in the air. I was amazed at how incredibly erotic it was to have sex with my daughter. Even now, satiated, little thrills pulsed through me as I imagined making love to her again, wanting to feel heaven again, maybe taste her, too.

But the murmurs next to me turned into little sighs and I opened my eyes. Unbelievably I felt my penis tingle, the first sign of an erection. Emma lay next to me, her eyes closed, knees raised, small breasts being held in her hands, tweaking and caressing her nipples, sighing. Looking down, my penis thickened when I saw my wife between Emma's thighs, bright, aroused dark amber eyes twinkling with pleasure as she ate Emma's pussy, her face buried in our daughter's crotch.

Jean's hand slipped out from under Emma's bottom, reached for my hand and gently squeezed it as she stimulated Emma. My erection returned in full force realizing Jean was tasting my cum.

One image, just one image came to mind, a seductive, sensual image. I liked that image. I smiled, rolling onto my side to displace Emma's hand on her perky little breast with my mouth. I heard her sigh, "Daddy."



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This is a work of fiction. The author does not condone any sexual activity among persons under the legal age of consent. This story is copyright protected.
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