Stephen Jones - Sex With Daddy

We had both come together and for hours, it seems, writhed with the intensity of it until we were both drained of every shred of sensation any two people could be capable of.

We lay exhausted, both staring at the dim ceiling above us, without speaking. But words were no longer necessary and the soft in and out swell of our breathing filled the room with a warmth and tenderness that any words could have destroyed.

Gently, I moved my hand so that I could touch his penis again. It was not a movement of desire for I was drained c f longing. I just wanted to touch the part of him that had given me such total physical and emotional pleasure.

It was almost soft and very wet with the lubrication that had so recently welcomed it inside me. I let my fingers slide over the moist length of it and, quietly played with him that way, until he rolled over to get and light a cigarette.

Once he had done that, he turned to me and said, "Kitten, I love you. I love you more than anything in the world."

"I love you, too, Daddy," I said. "That was so good. I never knew anything could be that good."

"Yes, kitten," he said. "Yes… " he took a long drag on the cigarette and seemed to be thinking about how he was going to phrase his next remark. Finally, he said, "Kitten, you know, you can't become pregnant. It would be terrible. I mean, you're not going to tonight probably because you just stopped your period, but you never know."

He went on to tell me of various ways of contraception, and we agreed that the Pill would be the easiest for me because that way our flesh could still enjoy all the added pleasure of direct contact while in the throes of passion.

We were still talking about this long after he had finished his cigarette. Perhaps even a dispassionate discussion like that was enough in itself to make the desire well within me a third time. I reached again for his prick, still soft, lying like a dead soldier on his pillow of wiry pubic hair.

"Let's do it again, Daddy," I said; "and make it last all night."

"It only works once, kitten," he whispered and gave a soft, embarrassed laugh.

But I continued to stroke him with my fingers and felt a slow, slight growth. I turned in the bed and slid down so that I was lying on my stomach with my head in his lap. Our bodies formed a T as I took his soft organ in my mouth. Again he gasped in pleasure as his right arm reached around and I felt the gentle excitement and added lubrication as two of his fingers slipped into me, moving back and forth against my fuck-button.

As I savored the taste of both of our fluids on his penis and ran my tongue over the length of it, I could feel it swell in my mouth. I massaged his scrotum and testicles with one hand and massaged the foreskin with the other as I constantly worked my lips and tongue over the organ.

And then, when it was hard, I again moved so that I could straddle him. This time, there was no barrier within me to impede his entrance and no barrier of conscience within him, for they had both shattered with the pleasure we had just shared. Besides, as he told me later, he had not been able to get a second erection in years and the thrill of it seemed to increase with his own desires even more.

This time, he lay on his back and I alone moved so that I was in control of every bit of ecstasy that shot through me. I prolonged it until he told me that he could control himself no longer. Then, with a twisting jerk, I sat hard on him, leaned forward so that my breasts touched his chest and we both experienced orgasm simultaneously. We lay there for some time and finally went to sleep entwined in each other's arms.

The next thing I knew, I was awakened by the clattering rudeness of an uncaring alarm clock summoning me to face the day and school. I showered and dressed in a dream and when I first saw Daddy in the kitchen, I threw my arms around him and kissed him passionately.

"Oh, Daddy, Daddy," I cried, "I love you so much. You're so wonderful."

We ate a normal breakfast, spoke of the usual things and didn't discuss the happenings of the previous night – not through guilt or shame, but because words were no longer necessary. We knew that the relationship was forever changed and I think we both were a little bit thrilled at the emotional and physical pleasure I had known and was yet to know, but I was also frightened of the responsibility I would have to face. I had become Daddy's wife instead of his daughter. I had grown up in the surging instant of an orgasm, and at thirteen years of age, I had to face the fact that I was a woman!

Almost everything I have read about the "horrors of incest" has gone into length about how ruinous such practices can be to the participants. But what they have failed to mention is the cause and effects, and the pattern that applies to incest as well as to every other aspect of human behavior.

Guilt, of course, is responsible for many traumas whether that guilt is centered on incestuous behavior or not. Also, hatred is a strong part of sexual behavior, which is responsible for later behavioral defects or mental disorders.

What the authorities on incest don't seem to realize is that acts of this sort can be centered on a kind of love and genuine affection that is found nowhere else. Surely, if Daddy had raped me against my will, or if my mother had instilled in me a fear of sex or an aversion for it, things might have been different.

Granted, if Mom had lived, incest would never have taken place. But she didn't live; I don't have my brain filled with moral doubts about right and wrong. I loved my father as a father and as a man – a member of the opposite sex. What we did was pleasurable and to us, at any rate, natural.

Certainly he can be said to have taken the greater share of responsibility because he was the parent and I the child. But once we became lovers, we shared the responsibility equally. He taught me about sex just as he taught me about my school studies and life in general. I was no different – I suppose, in some ways, I taught him, too.

Throughout it all, I felt that what we were doing was right. I loved him with all my heart – and with all my body, too. I wanted to give to him, share with him and be dependent upon him, as a woman is dependent upon her man. If my school work and social life were supposed to have suffered because of the relationship, it didn't. I felt a new thrill of belonging to life and to myself and to Daddy and it inspired me to greater feats of scholarship.

Rarely, if ever, did I get a mark lower than a B and rarely did I balk at school assignments. My social life was exactly what I wanted it to be. Granted, I didn't date, not because I wasn't asked or that Daddy forbade me to, but because I didn't want to go out with immature boys and listen to their silly talk about cars and football.

Except for the fact that Daddy was much older than I, and, of course, that we could never be married, it was just as if we lived as man and wife all those years.

I had my girlfriends and my hobbies which did not include Daddy. But the main part of my life was centered around him. I knew, too, what society would say if it ever found out about us, so I knew we had to perpetuate a lie. I had to act like a daughter when other people were around, but when we were alone in the apartment I was a woman and he was a man and, most important, we were in love.

Gradually, my duties around the apartment began to change to those of a wife rather than those of a child. I began to do all the cooking and the cleaning up and housework. He finished his higher education and stayed away longer because of his career efforts. I will say that certain aspects of our association might be considered wrong, but I went along with them because I felt like a wife and knew that I no longer wanted to be treated like a child. For one thing, I began to smoke even though Daddy didn't want me to. I also made it a point to share a martini with him before dinner.