Sitting with my erection pulsing gently, expanding and contracting slowly, deliciously, I thought about how lucky I was. I'd never known incest could be so exciting, nor that underage sex could be so thrilling and satisfying.
Jenna's silken pussy held me in a tight warm grip as she leaned back against me, sitting on the couch watching Hanna Montana, her skirt hiked up around her waist and soft white cotton panties dangling from one small ankle. Every so often she'd clench, tightening her pussy delightfully and I'd give her a responsive throb of my erection. Holding her petite body to me with one arm around her torso, her legs spread over my thighs, and one hand cupping the delicate pout of her pudendum, I concentrated, not on the TV, but on the feeling at the tip of my penis. I could detect the hard, rubbery sensation of her small cervix pressing against me, her immature womb close. Her warm velvety pussy gripped the length of my erection so sensuously it felt like paradise. And I couldn't get enough. No matter how many times we had sex, it wasn't enough. No matter how deeply I penetrated her incredible pussy, I wanted to go deeper.
Perhaps even better, if that was possible, was how enthusiastic Jenna was. I'd never have expected her to be so active, initiating sex so frequently. But Jenna had an endless appetite to feel me inside her pussy, to feel herself full and stretched, to feel her daddy's erection throbbing in her, loving her. She had an endless and innocently unrestrained curiosity, completely uninhibited. She liked to explore and feel new sensations, almost as if she was a nymphomaniac, although she wasn't, it was love driving her. She'd found a side of her relationship with me that thrilled her, made her feel close, made her feel good, gave her 'nice cums Daddy'.
I was completely and utterly addicted, unashamedly addicted to incestuous sex with my eight year old daughter.
It had started with a business trip to Minnesota in mid winter. Winter break meant I couldn't have my neighbours look after her as they did in the afternoons during school term. I'd brought her with me and it was no hardship. I loved Jenna passionately with a fierceness only a proud father can have. I strutted and boasted to anyone who would listen, expounding on her accomplishments, her cheery personality, her beauty that reminded me of her mother. I bored all my friends stiff with enthusiastic descriptions of her every talent, real or imagined, and my wallet was thick with photos that I'd pull out at the drop of a hat. I loved Jenna fiercely.
But just not that way.
It wasn't the bone-chilling cold of a Minnesota winter that changed things. It wasn't ulterior motives on either of our parts. It really wasn't. There were no gut-wrenching emotions, no shock, no recriminations or coercion, no soul-searching or guilt. In fact, it felt like the most natural thing in the world when it happened. As if it was destined to be, both of us simply accepting and enjoying. We fell into incest quite eagerly, and it was the delicate pout of her pudendum that I have to thank for it.
Four things happened; a nightmare that drew Jenna into my bed late at night, the morning erection that had pushed against Jenna's side, enhanced by a warm cuddly body laying next to me and a warm soft hand caressing my erection when I woke up from sweet dreams, Jenna whispering 'nice daddy' so softly and lovingly, and my hand resting on her panties feeling the delicate pout of her pudendum, a stunningly erotic mound.
That was all, nothing more.
I didn't think about it, wrestle with demons that weren't there, or cower in shock, scold or pull away. It felt good to have my daughter caressing my erection, it felt good. It felt marvellous to cup her small plump pubis. And it felt wonderful, simply wonderful to slip my fingers under the waist of soft cotton panties and hold a delightfully hairless pussy, small and warm. The pure excitement of slipping my hand beneath her soft panties, of touching my little girl sexually, was incredibly erotic, the delicate pout of her pudendum intoxicating.
At the time it seemed quite acceptable to lean over her on one elbow, look into her sweet face and kiss small ruby red lips. I didn't question her encouragement when she let my erection go and reached for me, small arms lightly circling my neck. It just seemed natural, it felt right. It seemed appropriate to whisper "I love you," because I did love her, deeply, and suddenly passionately. And I liked the feeling of my heart thumping with unexpected pleasure when my sweet eight year old whispered "I love you too, Daddy" before gently pulling my neck, seeking another kiss from her father, dark opalescent eyes glistening. We just seemed to fall into a new aspect of our relationship with no hesitation, as if it had always been in the cards, destined to be.
There was never any doubt in my mind I was going to make love to my daughter, never, not a trace of doubt. The kiss that started so gently, so chastely with soft warm lips against mine, grew more passionate when I traced her closed lips with the tip of my tongue. It grew more passionate when Jenna pulled just a bit tighter. It grew heated when I felt her small mouth opening, lips parting, and pleasure flooded my body when my daughter let me touch her tongue, so small and delicate, yet warm and soft, so receptive.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Changes last made on: Thursday, August 11, 2011