Miranda, Female, 24 (current), 8-9 (flashbacks)

	- Narrator, daughter of Angela and Dan

	- 5'7, beige skin, 125lbs, curly dark red-brown hair over shoulders

Dr. Martin Green, Male, late-40s

	- Sex therapist

	- 5'8, ruddy beige skin, 150lbs, short brown hair with grey streaks

Angela, Female, early-30s (flashbacks)

	- Mother of Miranda, wife of Dan

	- 5'7, beige skin, 140obs, dark-red brown hair over shoulders

Dan, Male, early-30s (flashbacks)

	- Father of Miranda, husband of Angela

	- 5'11, tanned beige skin, 175lbs, cropped dirty-blonde hair

“For the next ten years or so, it was rare for me to sleep somewhere other than my parents' bed,” I told Dr. Green after settling into my chair. The session had been long anticipated, by both of us, I'm sure. His calendar had been full for almost two weeks and he had had no cancellations which would open a spot for me at the last minute. He'd even had extra sessions going later than was normal as his clients seemed to, collectively, need extra attention lately.

Over those weeks, I had built up an excitement about continuing to reveal my secrets. There was something both vulnerable and powerful. I knew the effect it was having on Dr. Green, and I was regularly masturbating to thoughts of what the man did after our sessions. I imagined he sometimes jerked off in his office, or the bathroom, thoughts of my eight-year old pussy haunting his brain. I felt certain that he continued to share all this with his wife, and I wondered if he was open with her about his arousal, if she, too, might find what I experienced sexually exciting. I knew I was playing with fire, in some ways, teasing out dark and very carefully held fantasies from their minds. I was tempting them in ways I probably should not, but that was a side effect of telling my life story, a unsought but not unappreciated aspect of finding the help I needed.

I wondered how many times the couple had imagined my young body, whether he had described for his wife, in graphic detail, the image I had shown him of me nude at eight years old.

I'd gotten off to that image many times. It, and so many like it. Maybe I have always been self-possessed, too-certain of my own beauty, overly-conscious of my sexual features. I got off seeing myself naked, tasting my wetness, sniffing my odors. I can't explain why, but it was an aspect of my psyche that had been with me from the very beginning as far as I knew.

Dr. Green cleared his throat and asked, “and did most of those nights include sexual experiences?”

I nodded, “Pretty much, yes. Sure, there were times one of us didn't feel well or were too tired, but, yeah, my parents seemed to release all the restraints from their desires, and by extension, from mine, and we enjoyed each other intimately as often as possible.”

“Outside of the bedroom, were things otherwise. . . normal?”

I shrugged, “I don't really know what 'normal' means.”

Dr. Green clarified, “did you have a relationship more like parents and child or did you see yourself as being treated more like a partner? A spouse or girlfriend? Did they punish you if you did something wrong, or show you parental platonic love as you might have remembered before you became intimate with them?”

“I think so, yes. When we weren't intimate, they were just Mom and Dad. I screwed up sometimes. I said I was willful, and still am that way. I got grounded or had things taken away, but I don't recall them ever forbidding me from enjoying the sexual aspects of our relationship. I really don't know how they did it, Martin. It's like they were able to separate out the way we shared our bodies with the manner in which they guided me towards adulthood. I suppose they did the latter in both cases, but I was never treated like my sexual interests were part of the rest of how they treated me. I think. . . perhaps that's why I'm here.”

“Tell me. I'm dying to know why you have given me this long buildup to what you wish to gain from these sessions.”

I grinned. “I'm getting there, Martin, but there is more to this that I must get through. I promise there's a point. But first, I think I told you that I learned to please Mom as I had Dad. Shall I tell you about that?”

He leaned back and brought his pen to the paper. “Please.” Just before I began to talk, I noticed how Dr. Green shifted in his seat, positioning himself as if expecting to grow erect soon and not wanting to have to adjust his slacks later to accommodate his hardon.

- - -

I think both Mom and Dad had some fears and were second-guessing things the morning after, but not at first. Mom woke me, as I said, by licking up the dried semen on my stomach and then brought me to a sleepy orgasm soon after. She kissed me then we cuddled together, Dad still asleep beside us, and I was soon dozing and lost myself in her warm arms.

I woke a second time to feel movement. Mom had managed to slide a leg under one of mine, and she was slowly sliding her crotch against my outer thigh. I turned to watch and she smiled, a half-glazed look on her face. I could feel slippery wetness on my skin, her furry privates tickling me as she moved. I didn't know what to do, but I could tell she was enjoying it, so I just held still and watched.

Mom ground her pussy against my body for several moments before she started to tremble. Her orgasm added wetness to the slick streak on my outer thigh. Mom clasped her thighs tight around my leg, an arm scooping under my body to hold me tight against her as she came. I could feel her hot breath on my neck, and every little shudder vibrated into me. When she finally kissed me again, I giggled a little, and Mom laughed with me, wiping the sweat from her brow and pulling back. The spot which had been so warm from where her pussy pressed down was soon chilled as the ceiling fan blew air over the wetness. Goosebumps spread out on my skin and I shivered, my small buds growing somewhat tight.

Dad stirred, and after kissing me a moment, and kissing Mom, it was as if a switch had been flipped. They were Mom and Dad again, not my lovers. Mom told me to go shower while she got breakfast ready.

I did so, basking in the warmth of the experiences, my mind not so much racing as muddled with many memories of that night and morning. I smiled while I peed in the toilet and emptied my bowels, then kept smiling as I washed my body in the shower.

Breakfast was ready by the time I came out, dressed in a fresh night shirt. Dad came into the room, fully clothed in a t-shirt and slacks, telling me to put on clothes after eating. He'd taken the day off and wanted us to go out together to run errands and maybe see a movie. It sounded great to me, so I ate quickly and disappeared in my room to put on a summer dress they'd recently bought me.

It was one of those spaghetti-strap styles with the top hanging low over my upper chest, about three inches above where my puffy nubs pushed out the fabric a bit, and a hem which fell down to just below my knees. It was yellow and beige, and I thought it looked quite cute on me. I admired myself in the mirror a moment before putting on stockings and my tennis shoes, grabbing my little purse as I met my parents in the living room.

I say that I think they were having serious second thoughts because, in the car a short time later, when I asked if I could sleep in their bed again that night, they looked at each other with serious expressions and Dad told me we needed to talk about that later. I didn't catch it at the time, but they were both more reserved than usual I think. Less talkative, even with each other. I imagine that they were reliving the moments they'd shared their bodies with me and perhaps they worried about whether they'd just committed an unpardonable sin which would later devastate my life. At eight, just a day from turning nine, I had no concept of that darker path which our coupling might deliver. All I knew was that it had been the most exciting night of my life, and I loved my parents more strongly than ever. I wanted to feel Dad inside me again, and I know my panties were creamy before we ever parked at the mall.

- - -

“We did talk later. They were honest with me, I think, but they left out a lot of the doubts I think they had,” I told Dr. Green. “They explained how it was the most fun they'd ever had, that sharing their bed with me had been more pleasurable than anything they'd ever done.”

“Did they let you sleep with them that night?” Dr. Green asked, pausing his writing to meet my eyes.

I nodded. “Yes. Whatever doubts they had, they were clearly caught up in the excitement and arousal. I mean, could you blame them? They'd just broken the most taboo of taboos and it was surely addicting. They'd had sex with me. Not just their daughter, but an eight-year old to boot. And. . . I don't think they could have turned down the chance to enjoy me again, and I'm thankful for that, Martin, even though. . . I do understand that that decision, from other parents, has caused a lot of harm. I do understand that. It just wasn't harmful for me.”

“Okay. We've gone over that, Miranda. I know you are finding it very important to impress upon me that this relationship was positive for you. I'm sure you also understand that, as a therapist, I must look deeper and consider your biases. I mean no offense, and I'm not doubting you. I only mean that it is easy to rationalize your experiences and find a peace there, even if an outside observer might see the darker aspects you cannot. I don't wish to take that away from you, but I must hold my own judgement throughout, and hope to find a way to connect your experiences to the goals you seek.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, “but I can only tell it as I saw it, as I felt it, as I know it to be. Whatever my biases, however many ways I've forgotten and redrawn the details of what I experienced, know that as I sit here, thinking about the entirety of my life, I cannot wish for anything to be different. . . ”

“Except for Paris,” Dr. Green said kindly.

“Except for Paris.”

“You were going to tell me about your mother's pleasure,” he prompted me before I could feel sadness again. “Is that what takes place next?”

“Yes, largely.” I leaned back and closed my eyes, and told Dr. Green about that second night and the following day, my ninth birthday.

- - -

That day was spent back in our previous parent-child framework. I was having a great time with them. We had lunch and shopped and saw a movie about princesses, then went to dinner and strolled down by the river. It was almost as if the sexual intimacy we'd shared was a wonderful, feverish dream of mine. As a child, I wasn't the sort to try to grab Dad's penis or kiss Mom outside the bedroom, I wouldn't even have considered it then. So, to me, it was just a fun day in a fun life with the parents I loved and who I knew loved me.

That night, I climbed into bed with them as if I'd done it all my life, and once more, Dad put himself inside me and came. He lasted no longer than before, and I doubt he got any more of his penis in me this time. But both of them licked me down there, and I came a few times before I was really sore and told them so. As soon as I said that, they asked if they could make love while I watched and I enthusiastically said I'd like that.

Mom slid to the middle of the bed and Dad rose over her. His cock was still glistening from where he'd ejaculated into my little hole and in one smooth motion, I watched him penetrate Mom's vagina.

I couldn't look away, not that I wished to. Mom and Dad kissed and made the noises I loved so much. One or the other would reach over to touch me at times, caressing my puffy nipples or carefully sliding fingers along my swollen, slippery labia. I know it turned them on to touch me while they had intercourse, and Mom even asked if I would suck on her breasts. Of course, I did it willingly, though it did less sexually for me than it would in the years to follow. Mom came as Dad fucked her, my tongue dancing around her hard, dark nipples while she held me to her tightly. Dad emptied himself inside Mom soon after, grunting and fondling my ass as he did.

The next day was my ninth birthday, and I largely forgot our sexual relationship in the excitement. It was a Saturday, and a party was planned. Several of my friends from school along with a few of their parents were going with us to the petting zoo nearby, then off for a pizza and ice cream party afterwards.

I got dressed up in my favorite pink skirt and top, and tied little pink ribbons into my hair. Even the panties I wore were pink. As I admired myself in the mirror, I realized that my puffy nipples could easily be seen through my top. I didn't really think more about it. It didn't turn me on or make me feel self-conscious. It was just an observation. I couldn't know, of course, the way others, including adults, might react.

Mom and Dad took me to the zoo and I had a great time with my friends, then enjoyed the party. I got several cool presents, including a couple of books I wanted, DVDs, princess dolls, and a new dress from Mom and Dad. They also got me tickets to see one of the Princesses On Ice shows coming to Indianapolis in a few weeks and promised we'd go make a long weekend out of it.

In some ways, I wish I could have had the maturity to reflect then on just how lucky I was. Here I was, newly nine, and I had great parents who loved me, friends who celebrated with me, presents that would have made almost any nine-year-old girl excited, and on top of all that, I was enjoying sexual relations with two amazing lovers. The fact that those lovers were also my parents made it that much more special to me, but I didn't have the distance or maturity to recognize it then. All I knew was that I shared an exciting, secret part of my life with Mom and Dad, and they loved me even more because of it.

That night, while Mom showered, Dad asked me if I had a great birthday. When I told him yes, I added, “but what I really want for my birthday is to make Mom feel good like I do you when you put it in my mouth.”

He smiled at me and pulled me closer to him on the couch. “You want to lick between your mom's legs? Like we do you?”

I nodded. “Can you show me how?”

“I can think of nothing I want more right now. Of course, my lovely Princess. Of course.”

Mom got out of the shower and walked into the living room naked. Dad and I both wore mischievous grins. It was a look we co-conspirators had worn often, usually because Dad and I clicked like that and Mom was out of the loop during whatever scheme we were plotting. It was all in good fun, of course, and this time was no different.

“What are you two up to?” Mom asked, cocking her head with narrowed eyes.

“You'll see,” Dad said, winking at me. “Ready for bed?”

Mom smiled and led the way.

Inside, Dad said, “Miranda said something was missing from her birthday.”

Mom sat on the edge of the bed, “Oh?”

“Get comfortable,” Dad told her, pulling off his robe while I shed my nightshirt quickly. Mom got onto the bed and rested her head against a pillow, legs rocking slowly. I gazed at the dark patch of fur between her legs and grinned. Looking at Mom was starting to be something which turned me on, and I was growing aroused as her legs parted and her special place was opened to my eyes.

Mom had dark-red labia which, as I know now, were small like mine. Sure, she had a mature vulva and it was bigger than mine at eight, but as is still the case for me, her privates stayed small and tight and beautiful. I could just make out the wetness inside her hole, and, thinking of how my own sex tasted on my fingers, I wondered if Mom's secret places would be as delicious.

Dad looked at me and leaned onto the bed, “go ahead, Miranda. Take a closer look.”

I jumped onto the bed and crawled between Mom's thighs, her privates only inches from my face. I could smell her then. Mom's pussy was clean from the shower, but the fragrance was fleshy and mature, easily one of those smells I could have identified anywhere. I inhaled deeply and giggled. “You smell nice,” I told her.

Dad laughed, and I could see that Mom was watching me closely, her face and large breasts flushed and reddish. Her nipples were hard, and as I gazed between her legs, I saw that there was a small nub at the top of her slit which was erect as well, just barely visible under her fur.

“Touch her gently, like you would your own,” Dad told me.

I looked on a moment, thinking about his instructions, then slid a hand over Mom's sex. The heat pressed against my palm as her dark hairs tickled my fingers. I giggled again, very excited and, to be honest, a bit nervous. Mom's legs parted wider, and she drew them back so that her knees were in the air and her feet closer to her buttocks.

I began to stroke Mom's privates, just testing the flesh there. It was soft and silky, a bit wet, almost spongy. She moaned as my fingers drew up and down her lips, then moaned louder when I brushed her throbbing clit. Like mine, Mom's clit was prominent. It got bigger the more I touched it.

Dad had pulled himself close to one side, looking down from Mom's abdomen. “She likes it when you touch her, Miranda, hear how she purrs?”

I smiled and kept touching her special places. I noticed how her dark-red lips parted the more I did so, her clit bobbing with her heartbeat.

“Slip a finger inside. Mind those fingernails.”

I did as Dad suggested and carefully slid my index finger in slowly. Warm, wet velvet surrounded my finger and I shivered from how much I liked that sensation. I was growing very wet myself, and my other hand slid down to my cunny to idly touch myself.

“Deeper,” Dad said. “You won't hurt her.”

I slipped deeper, up to the knuckle, then deeper still until I pushed against the back of Mom's vagina. She groaned and her hips rolled. It was her cervix I was hitting because, like me, her hole was very short until it got worked up.

“Put another inside me,” Mom said in a breathy voice, “please.”

I added my middle finger and I felt Mom's opening stretch just slightly. I giggled again, playing with myself while I fingered Mom.

“Now,” Dad instructed me, “move them in and out. You can go faster. Pay attention to how her body moves.”

I heard Mom whisper, “Oh, Dan. . . this feels so good. . . ”

Dad smiled at her as I started to push my fingers in and out of my mother's vagina. I alternated watching her face and her genitals, inhaling her personal odors as they grew stronger and more enticing.

After a few moments of this, Mom was breathing heavily. She called down to me, “taste me, Miranda. . . oh, please taste me.”

Dad looked at me and said, “Now try your mouth on your mother the way you did with me. Well, in a way like that. Pull your fingers out a moment.” I did so, and he continued, “Use your tongue like you are licking an ice cream cone. Up and down her slit. Tease her clit.”

“Clit?” I asked naively.

“Oh, that's this here,” he said, using his fingers to show me the hard nub I'd noticed before. “Extra sensitive. Wait til you see how she reacts to you licking that.”

I pressed my face against Mom's privates and lapped up and down her special place. I tasted saltiness, somewhat meaty like Dad's penis, but different. There was a creaminess there, too, and maybe something florally or earthy, like mown grass or jasmine. I don't know how to describe it, but I loved the way Mom's pussy tasted.

I brushed by her clit on one of my strokes, and her body moved up against me. I did it again, and she shuddered. “Like that, Miranda. . . like that.”

Mom's words and moans were driving me on. I'd forgotten my own pussy by now, concentrating on the way Mom seemed to be getting closer to her own orgasm. During one of my down strokes, my tongue slid in between her labia, and I tasted her raw insides, the tanginess mixing with sweet and slightly sour creaminess that I lapped up quickly.

“She's almost there, Miranda,” I heard Dad say. “Make your mom cum, Princess.”

“I'm so close, Honey. . . so close. . . uhnn. . . ohhhh. . . ”

I doubled my concentration, trying to match her rhythm, finding her body moving in circles and shuddering, my tongue inexpert but very willing to follow where she led. Her knees buckled and I felt her legs slide down against my body. Mom's thighs tightened around my neck, and I felt her hands on my head, holding me firmly against her spasming pussy.

She came hard and cried out loudly. I mostly held still at that point, unsure what to do next, my tongue out. Mom rubbed her clit on my tongue and I could feel it throbbing as she orgasmed. I wish I could have bottled that experience right then. If I had my way, I'd have relived sucking Dad's dick and eating Mom's pussy over and over forever.

I felt hands on my ass where it was bent over the bed, my feet on the floor. Mom was still shaking as pressure built in my genitals, and I realized that Dad was entering me from behind. This was new to me, and I was excited to see if this felt different than the other way.

It was different, of course, but all the same pleasures and slight pains were there. I heard Dad grunt as my hole stretched to try to take him inside. I moaned into Mom's sweaty, glistening cunt, closing my eyes to concentrate on making my pussy open wider for Dad.

The pressure got stronger and I felt very full suddenly. Dad let out a long moan, and I realized he'd just slipped deeper in me than before. He held still, saying, “does that hurt, Miranda?”

I called over my shoulder, “a little, but it's okay. . . uuuuhhhh. . . ”

It did hurt a little. My small hole was stretched to the fullest even though Dad's penis wasn't thick. He started to move, and I felt the discomfort grow with each movement. I almost asked him to stop, but then I felt him reach around and under my stomach and his finger brushed my clit.

Seconds later I came hard around Dad's penis, shuddering, moaning against Mom's privates while inhaling her rich fragrance. Dad bucked behind me, and my orgasm masked any pain that movement might have caused. He thrust and I felt him go deeper, intensifying the contractions in my vagina. I was stretched tightly around his shaft. He pulled back and slid into me again, again, then I felt that wonderful warm fullness inside me that told me Dad was ejaculating into my body.

I felt his semen running down my legs long before he pulled out. I think he was actually a little worried about trying to withdraw at first, but maybe he was just unwilling to lose the warm, tight grip I had on his penis. Slowly, very slowly, I felt him soften as I breathed heavily against Mom's hairy pubic mound. Her hands ran through my hair and I rested my chin on her slit. Dad's cock softened enough that he pulled back. I admit that I wish he'd have stayed inside of me forever.

Thick semen rushed out of my hole and down my legs. I couldn't move at first, too relaxed and spent to consider doing anything by keeping still. Mom moved out from under me, and I became aware of her breath on my ass and cunny seconds later. Whatever cum was still leaking out of my sore vagina, she lapped up and down my slit to get what she could, gently licking my vulva.

- - -

“And so, that was my first full experience with a woman. I loved it, Martin,” I told Dr. Green, “I wish you could have tasted her, you'd understand.”

I opened my eyes to see him staring at me, his lips parted. I'd come to know that look, and I certainly didn't blame him for being very aroused. “Sorry,” I added, “that last part wasn't really necessary.”

“Fine. . . no harm done,” he said, waving away my concern. He continued to write in his pad.

“Tell me something, Martin,” I said, “are you still sharing my case with your wife?”

He paused and looked up at me. “Yes. Would you prefer that I did not?”

“No, no,” I replied quickly. “I just wonder if. . . ” I'm sure I got that mischievous look in my eye in that moment, “. . . if Auburn has had any. . . reaction. . . to all this.”

“Well, uh,” he said as the timer clanged to signal the end of our session, “I suppose she has, yes, uh. . . what are you asking, specifically, Miranda? We aren't yet to the point where she can help me meet your goals since I don't know them, so for now, I'm just. . . keeping her up to date. . . ”

I smiled, “Never mind, Martin. A girl just gets curious who might be hearing all this and how it might. . . affect. . . them.”

He knew what I was talking about but he was not about to go down that road with me right then. I was pretty sure that if Dr. Green had shared my story fully, and been honest about his own reaction to what I described, his wife was surely of a similar mind and they had likely fantasized about me, or at least about the eight and nine-year-old me I was describing.

I suppose it was cruel of me, really. Making the doctor and his wife horny was not why I was there, and me pressing those buttons to make sure Dr. Green knew that I knew it made him, and likey his wife, horny, was not fair or something he should have had to put up with.

Still, that's who I am. Not cruel but, I don't now, curious about the sexuality of others. My life was so different than anyone else I'd met. Sure, I have no doubt there are plenty of men and a few women would be aroused to hear about the incestuous sex life of a young girl, but it wasn't exactly something which you talked about in normal conversations. There were consequences, as we all knew, and me playing with the couple by teasing about it made me feel a bit ashamed, even if I really didn't wish to stop.

“Sorry,” I said after I realized he had just reminded me that our session was up, “was just thinking. Next time?”

Dr. Green nodded. “Tomorrow. Six.”

“Six? Isn't that later than your office hours?”

“Yes, but,” he paused, then continued, “I think maybe you would like to meet my wife, at least for a moment. She's dying to meet you. Only if you wish, of course.”

I smiled. “I'd like that.”