Harry Stevens: Incest daughter

Having failed to make her come, he was suddenly a thing of the past to her. Just another faceless guy she'd spread her legs for who hadn't been able to satisfy her.

She pushed him away, freeing her pussy from his sow cock.

Vicki replaced Duke's prick with her hand. She finger-fucked her cunt. Pinched her clit.

"Maybe…" Vicki moaned deliriously. "Maybe this time I can do it to myself. I'm so close…"

But she was just torturing herself. Nothing that Vicki could do to herself could make, her come.

Duke laughed with contempt at her. "Jeez, I pity you," he said, as Vicki's useless hand-job on herself wound down. "If getting fucked by Duke Morrison can't get your rocks off, you might as well be dead. Christ, what a loser. Come on, bitch, pull your skirt down and I'll take you home. There's still time for me to pick up a normal chick with a cunt that works."

Vicki was too embarrassed to remain with Duke a moment longer. She struggled to her feet and stumbled away from him, tossing her wined panties into the bushes.

Duke's laughter ripped through the night as Vicki clumsily fled.

"Loser!" he called.

Picking up speed, Vicki ran from his accusation. "No, it isn't true," she puffed to herself. "Somewhere there's someone who can make me come. I know it. I've got to believe it."

She darted between some trees and sprinted up a hill. Then, across a vacant lot. Street lights greeted her. Her feet hit the sidewalk and she slowed down to a brisk walk. When she spotted a bus stop, she stopped and waited for a ride home. An odd thing happened when Vicki boarded the next bus. Although at this time of night there were several vacant seats, she was drawn toward one next to a priest. Something about sitting next to him made her feel safe.

He was looking put the window when Vicki sat down. Then the bus moved away from the curb and he faced toward her. Vicki almost fainted.

"S-something wrong, young lady?" the priest stammered, confused.

"No, no… Nothing, Father," Vicki lied, looking away.

But the priest sensed Vicki's pain. He put one hand on her shoulder and used the other to draw her face around until he was staring into her cloudy brown eyes.

"Please tell me what's wrong," the priest said softly. "It's my job to listen."

Vicki's eyes grew wider and wider. Then she slammed them closed. The resemblance was haunting. She couldn't take it.

"I-I can't talk to you," she told the priest. "I just can't."

She stood up and yanked the buzzer, getting off at the next stop.

As she began walking the rest of the way home, Vicki couldn't shake the image of the priest's face. It was incredible, but he was an exact double for her father.

It was terrible. As if her father were following around, spying on her. Knowing her secrets. Somewhere along her journey home, Vicki became almost hysterical, imagining that her father's eyes were tracking her every move.

"Daddy," she cried into the night. "What's wrong with me?"

A sudden wind answered her. It embraced her with its chilly gust, pushing her toward home like an instrument of fate.

Vicki calmed down and went along with the momentum. Before long she was in front of her house.

She had no choice but to go inside. The way she felt she just hoped nobody else was up. Especially her father.

Vicki couldn't shake the notion that the priest on the bus had been an omen. His striking resemblance to her father on the heels of another unsatisfying fuck gave off vibes she could neither understand nor ignore.

As Vicki slipped into the house, she felt a sharp twinge in her cunt. Impulsively, she pushed her hand under her skirt, up between her thighs. Her pussy was soaking wet with fresh juice.

While Vicki's fingers tested the sticky warmth of her cunt, her father's image hovered in her mind. She prayed that she did not run into him while she felt so weird. If she did, she had the eerie feeling something terrible might happen.

However, when she was in the hallway, and saw the bathroom light on and the door ajar. Vicki went right toward it.

Her father was on the toilet. She saw his face first, then the rest of him.

"Daddy!" Vicki gasped, both alarmed and excited. "What are you doing!"

She had stepped into the bathroom, getting an eyeful.

"My God, Daddy! What's got into you?" She closed the door behind her and felt her pussy spasm with heat. It was too late to turn back now.

Burt Wallace had awakened with a start. He had just been dreaming about his daughter.

"Vicki's in trouble," he muttered. He had just seen her with a boy. A longhaired punk with pimples, muscles, and a hard-on.

The punk liked to play rough. He had Vicki jammed up against the door of his car and was forcing his stiff cock in her face.

That's when Burt woke up. He couldn't stand to see his young daughter sucking someone's prick. Even if it was just in a dream.

He'd been having, these dreams a lot lately. Whenever Vicki was out on a date. It was extremely nerve-wracking.

In fact, Burt was starting to wonder if he was merely dreaming. The dreams seemed so real. Almost like ESP.

"Burt, are you all right?" Marsha Wallace interrupted her husband's trouble thoughts.

"Oh… uh… Marsha," Burt sputtered self-consciously, as though he were surprised to find himself in bed with his wife.

"Have another bad dream, honey?"

"No," Burt lied.

He didn't want to get into it with Marsha tonight. He just wanted to be left alone. But his wife was a persistent woman. Especially when she was horny.

"Well, since we're both up… and you don't want to talk," Marsha cooed, "maybe we, uh, could do something else."

Her hand was rubbing up Burt's thigh. Then it was exploring his crotch.

"Eureka!" Marsha squealed with delight. "A hard-on! Just what I need in my poor lonesome cunt. Come on, lover, let's fuck."

Burt was embarrassed. No man likes to find out he has a hard-on from someone besides his wife. Especially his wife, when he knows, down deep, that his cock was stiffened by erotic images of his daughter.

"Leave me alone," Burt snapped at Marsha, pushing her hand from his throbbing cock.

"Well, excuse me," she responded in a huff. "Imagine. A wife jumping to the conclusion her husband wants to fuck her just because he wakes up with his cock hard."

Then Marsha turned suspicious. "Say, just what kind of dream were you having, anyway, Burt?"

"Go back to sleep!" Burt snapped again. "I just have to piss. That's all. All I've got is a piss hard-on."

Marsha just glared at him.

Burt didn't have to piss at all, but the only way he could get Marsha off his back was to go to the bathroom.

"Go back to sleep," he hissed, as be got out of bed with his rigid cock jutting out of his pajamas.

"Son of a bitch," Marsha grumbled, then rolled over and covered her head with a pillow.

Gratefully leaving the bedroom, Burt felt his way down the dark hallway toward the john. He guessed he would sit on the toilet a while and read a magazine until Marsha had gone back to sleep. Maybe brush his teeth.

When Burt sat down on the toilet he never reached for something to read. The only thing he could concentrate on was the ache between his legs. As be looked down, his steely cock twitched with continued arousal.

"Gotta do something," Burt wheezed. "My balls are killing me."

He tuned stroking his stiff prick. Faster and faster.

"I can't believe it," he said, observing his action with wonder. "I haven't jerked off in years. Since I was a kid."

He had forgotten how good it felt to beat his meat. Closing his eyes, he zeroed in on an erotic fantasy to accompany the stimulation of his hard cock.

"Vicki," Burt murmured his daughter's name. "Vicki… Vicki… Vicki."