Stephen Jones - Sex With Daddy

At that moment, I dove into the pool and swam the length, thinking perhaps that my ears had deceived me. But, I knew all the while that they hadn't – the two women were talking about me and Daddy. In the next two days, I overheard other similar snatches of conversation and caught condemning glances cast my way.

Then, on the afternoon of the third day, as I was in the apartment alone, there was a knock on the door and I opened it for a woman I knew but slightly. Her name was Mrs. Martin and she had been a tenant of the building for almost a year. I was as close to her as I was to anyone other than Daddy. At least I would stop and chat with her and once had shared a cup of coffee with her in her own apartment.

This time, however, her facial expression was anything but happy. She was obviously concerned and her mouth was pulled tight in an expression of pursed regret. She asked if she might come in and I showed her into the living room and offered her a cigarette.

She refused. "My dear," she said, "I never like to meddle on other people's affairs, but you're such a beautiful young girl with all of your life before you and I feel it's my Christian duty to explain some things to you."

"What's that, Mrs. Martin?" tasked, innocently.

"Oh, my dear child. Don't make it hard for me. I know – we all know. You've been actually – how can I put it? – seen in the… the act!"

"The act?" I still wasn't really sure what she was talking about.

"Oh, my dear child," she said again. "You're so young. How could you know? How could you have any idea what a depraved and terrible thing you are being forced to undergo?"

"I don't think I under – "

"The whole apartment house is buzzing with it. About you and your father. Oh, how could that man do such a terrible thing to such a nice, young girl? I don't understand how he could do it, you poor thing, you poor, poor thing!"

By this time, I knew what she was talking about, but I didn't care. The only thing on my mind was my intense love for Daddy and the knowledge that even now his child was growing within me. I was indignant and angry at Mrs. Martin's invasion of my privacy. I felt in my heart that everything that Daddy and I had experienced together was more real and meaningful and honest than any of the life around us.

My anger welled up in my throat and I rose from where I had been sitting. "My father is not terrible," I announced, "and he hasn't made me do anything that I didn't want to. And, Mrs. Martin, I'll thank you to mind your own business and keep your nose out of my affairs."

"Well!" she said. "I never!"

"Then, that's your loss," I said between my teeth. "Now, if you'll leave me, I have some work to do!"

She rose from her chair and huffed to the door. She stood there with one hand on the knob and turned to me a final time, her expression not one of a busybody but one of deep human concern. "Oh, my poor child," she said as if it was her only way of beginning a sentence, "if you only knew the horror, the stigma, the pain in store for you because of what you are doing. If you only knew!"

"Get out!" I said. "And leave me and my daddy alone!"

With that, she turned, opened the door and stalked out without my realizing that she actually had come to help – to warn me of the sure danger that lay in store for me and Daddy unless we gave up the expression of our love or moved to another location.

Mrs. Martin had, in effect, been my last chance. Now, with my angry slamming of the door behind her, I had sealed the doom that had probably lurked over Daddy and me from the very first time I had shown him that I would be a willing partner to the oldest and most universal of human sins.

What I didn't know was that Steve had already been caught by his grandmother and that she, too, had seen Daddy and me making love. Steve's grandmother had passed the information around to members of both apartment buildings. Because the knowledge was a hearsay proposition at best, Steve's father had conspired with the manager of the apartment house to make a private raid on Daddy and me, before calling the authorities and pressing charges of incest, child molestation and contributing to the delinquency of a minor, against Daddy.

None of these things were known to me that day, but I was distraught about Mrs. Martin's visit, and the words and glances I had heard at the pool. Yet, I did feel some sort of premonition, some foreboding of disaster and some Intensification of the depth of our love.

When Daddy came home that evening, I went out of my way to make him a delicious dry martini and to have an extra special dinner waiting for him. I wanted to do everything I could for him – even got his slippers to wear while he read the paper. When he got ready for bed, I insisted that he take a bath instead of a shower so that I could wash him like some Oriental slave might wash her master.

Something inside me, something told me that this would be our last night together. I knew it; yet I didn't know it – it was a feeling.

And because it could not be denied, I determined to make this last night together, this last joining of our souls and bodies that would take place later in the evening the most delicious and fulfilling experience either of us had ever had.

After I had washed him all over in the tub, I took my own shower alone for the first time in months. When I had dried myself I made sure that my body was thoroughly powdered and little drops of perfume were on the tops of both my thighs.

Then, after I had brushed my teeth, I walked into the bedroom, striking the most provocative pose I could in front of the big mirror. He could see my jutting breasts in the flesh and my rounded buttocks in the reflection. I asked him if he wanted another martini in bed.

"That might be nice," he said "Why not?"

Still naked and feeling full of seductive womanliness, I walked into the kitchen and mixed two large martinis. I poured them in tumblers with ice cubes instead of in stemmed glasses and returned to where Daddy still lay naked on the bed. There I handed him one and. as he took his first sip, gently reached out and took his cock in my hand.

My premonition of doom seemed to swirl around me. But, as if knowing that this would be the end, I wanted to do everything in my power to make it unforgettable for both of us. I wanted to make Daddy's final experience with me as sensuously beautiful and exciting as I knew how.

He sipped on his drink as I fondled his organ until it became erect. When it had achieved its total strength, I put my own glass down and gently lowered my head to his groin so that I could take his love tool in my mouth. I wanted to caress and kiss him without making the excitement too intense or rapid, for I wanted the tinglings of sensation that I knew shot through him to seem to last for an eternity.

Perhaps, he, too, shared my premonition. For he seemed to relax totally and savor the thrills he was experiencing. But he would not let me bring him to ultimate climax that way.

Apparently, he too, wanted to prove his undying love for me, for after a few minutes of allowing me to kiss and caress him, he put his glass down on the end table, twisted around on the bed and began to reciprocate the oral act.

Never have I been so quietly thrilled and pleasantly, warmly aroused. That what he did was amazingly exciting I can never deny, but there was something about the movement of his lips and tongue on my sexual parts that was quietly sensual. It was not violent nor did it draw me inescapably toward a surging orgasm.

The process was slow, delicate and delicious until we both seemed to sense the time was ripe for full sexual congress.

Gently, Daddy removed his mouth from my wet vagina and with maddening slowness moved up so that we could both see his erect prick touch my vagina and then, slowly sink into the welcoming flesh. Without any violence or rapidity, I arched my hips toward his, twined my legs and arms around his muscular body and drifted into a physical and emotional dream that I shall never experience again.