Frank Anvic - Swap island

"Keep your fingers crossed."

"But not my legs."

"No," he smiled, "not your legs."

She reached over and took his limp organ in her hands then, and played with it vigorously so as to arouse it.

True to his promise, it was not long before Pete was again ready. His stout prick became born to the edge of rocket explosion. The rhythm they had set up was self-protecting, however. Each time he would feel like it might be over for them, he would reach the top of a swell, crest it outside in the cooling air and when his passion had partially subsided, he'd plunge down into the pulsing squeezing depths of her pussy again.

"Olive, dearest," he whispered, "this is the best ever. The best I've ever had."

"Mmmmm," Cathy murmured.

"You're really caught up in it, aren't you?" he asked, wondering why she didn't speak.

"Unh huh," Cathy gasped.

Her heart was pounding with the exquisite thrill of his words. He had told her that she was the best. The best! Better even than her mother! She had never expected anything like this! Not that she was competing, she told herself, but she was younger. She was prettier. And her father had said that this was the best he had ever had. She wanted to shout out in the dark of the cabin that she was his daughter. She wanted to scream, "Fuck me, fuck me, daddy!" and then hold his cock inside her until it spilled over with fresh hot seed.

She successfully stifled her wild impulses, however, and kept up the new rhythmic fuck-time they had found. But it nearly broke her heart that she couldn't tell her father how much she loved him, right now, as he lay on her soft body stroking her cunt with his huge swollen cock.

Pete was too caught up with his own good feelings to realize that he was mounting his own daughter. He had felt this way while balling Olive anyway and the last image he had was of Olive's face. Otherwise he might have understood that this was not Olive beneath him, but Cathy, his daughter.

He found his thoughts intermingling. Part of them concerned Cathy, part concerned Olive. He tried to envision the young pussy he was pronging. He exulted in the way it held his cock firmly, yet seemed to be enlarging as if to pull him deeper into its warming depths.

Once or twice, his cock brought a stab of pain to Cathy's pussy. Rather than resent it, however, she enjoyed it. She almost gave a cry of pain once when he rammed forward to jab painfully against the blunt, solid end of her cervix. She flung her legs wide to alleviate the hurt, her toes curling and digging into the mattress.

Pete's hands slipped down under the rounded melons of her buttocks, raising them while at the same time he strained his cock into her with all the power of his hips and thighs that he could muster.

Cathy moaned incoherently with the delicious pleasure this brought to her. She wound her warm and smooth young legs around his hips as he thrust ever deeper into her cunt. The smooth, velvet folds of her soaked vagina held him, squeezing tightly around his rigid shaft, until she could feel every inch of tight skin on his stiff and pulsing prick. She surrendered totally to the lure of flesh, their separate organs now fused into a single instrument of madness and pleasure. She reveled in the titanic feelings of lust her father brought to her loins. She screwed her grinding buttocks up tight against his pelvis until she could feel the tantalizing tightness of his balls pressed hard into the wet, wide-stretched crevice just below her throbbing vagina. The soft, hair-covered skin danced teasingly against the sensitive outer rings of her tiny naked anus, sending hot shivers of lusty delight pouring through her butterfly-fluttering nerve ends.

She no longer cared what she said or did. Her father's cock inside her was too much. It released passions in her that she didn't know she possessed. She didn't care about tomorrow or the next day or the next year. Only now was important. Only now was real. Now was her father skewering her eager body on his cunt-greased lance, pounding it into her as she bucked like a madwoman beneath him.

She gave herself up to the driving sex of her father without serious thought of any consequences here, now or ever. There was nothing else in the entire universe for Cathy except this: the pure electricity of her father's cock driving into her love tunnel; the sheer ecstasy of his cock prodding her cunt to a flaring eagerness. It seemed to her that her red hole opened up and became a cauldron of lust made only to receive that fatness and hardness that was his bucking cock. There was nothing for her but that deep dark hole of flesh and lust, of belly smacking against belly, crotch grinding against crotch, organ meeting organ.

And finally, she could contain her silence no longer. So intense was her passion that she couldn't help herself, couldn't stay the explosion that had been fomenting beneath the surface of her lusty expression of body.

"Oh, my God, fuck me hard, daddy, fuck me hard, give it to meeee!" she shrieked.

Orgasm began to overtake her and her body became something animal and possessed. She was no longer rational or human as she twisted and contorted her body, spreading her legs wide apart and then pulling them up to her shoulders, bending them at the knees, spurring him on like some wild centaur with the heels of her feet digging into his tense and driving buttocks.

"Give me all your fuck, daddy!" she screamed into the silence of the cabin darkness.

Then the flashes of light, the bright rainbows, the exploding Roman candles, the cascading aurora borealis as the shudder of orgasm electrified her body and paralyzed her brain.

The glory of it all was that her father increased his pumping and held her tightly in his arms as his own orgasm turned him into a dancing marionette.

"Oh, Cathy, Jesus, is it you?"

"Yes, oh yes, daddy," she moaned, "it's me."

"I can't believe it," he gasped, holding her tightly to him.

His sperm splashed against the walls of her cervix and he felt the contractions of his daughter's pussy.

"Give it all to me," Cathy whispered into her father's ear.

Pete closed his eyes and shot the last of his milk into her. He didn't trust himself to speak for a long moment.

Then he opened his eyes slowly and reached for the bunk lamp switch. He clicked it on and the dim light lit up the features of his daughter, Cathy.

Pete gulped. The air seemed to leave his lungs of its own volition. "Oh, Christ," he muttered finally.

Cathy began to weep.

"Don't cry," he husked. "You'll just make it more complicated."

She looked up at him, her eyes large and wet, like a hurt spaniel's.

"Are you mad, daddy?" she asked in a tiny voice.

Pete shuddered. ".`Stunned would be a better word," he said. "This is hardly real. It's-it's like something out of a dream."

"I-I couldn't help myself," she said.

"But-then you know about Olive," he offered.

"Yes."

"And you did this?"

"Yes," she said in a soft, almost inaudible, voice.

"Why?"

"Because-because I wanted you," she said, breaking into sobs again.

Pete lay beside her and held her in his arms. She was his daughter, not his lover, once again. "Damn-I have to think," he said, more to himself than to her.

Cathy was silent, her heart pounding like a muffled savage drum.

It was quiet in the cabin for a long while. Finally, Pete reached up and turned out the lamp, plunging the cabin into darkness again.

"Well, we can't tell anyone about this," he said, after what seemed like an eternity to Cathy.

"No. I know," she said.

"Especially not your mother."

"No. Especially not her."

"Jesus!"

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

“Was-was it good to you?"

"Goddamn, Cathy. Why did you have to ask me that? Goddamn."