She
had a scattering of early memories. She remembered the awe she felt
looking up at very tall buildings during what must have been one of her
first trips to the city. She remembered walking between her parents,
flying as each lifted an arm. She remembered lazing in front of the TV.
She remembered sitting at the kitchen table with her parents on a
weekend morning, watching steam rising from her mom's coffee cup.
Her
dad spent a lot of time on his computer. What she saw was his eyes
focused on the glowing screen for minutes at a time, with an occasional
click as he changed what was on the screen. More intense scanning, then
occasional bursts of tapping on the keyboard. Most of it was boring.
Sometimes there were pictures. As a treat for her he sometimes pulled
up pictures of animals or butterflies.
She remembered sitting in his lap while he read to her, and how safe
she felt snuggling against him.
Her
mother ... When she tried to retrieve positive memories of her mother,
it was harder. Were those occasional hugs and smiles genuine? She
wasn't sure. Her mother took her shopping for new clothes now and then.
But she grumbled. Her mother looked Jill over when she was dressed for
the day, but what she saw in her mother's eyes was attention to the
surface. What clothes were wrinkled, what went with what. Whether her
hair was combed, and whether she had a smudge on her cheek. She didn't
remember her mother looking at her, the actual girl, and smiling at her
just because she was Jill. She sensed that her mother thought of Jill
as a responsibility, not a real person to love. And that thought made
her tear up sometimes, when she let herself really think about it.
When
she was worried or glum, she went to her dad. He always had a lap for
her to climb in, a shoulder to lean against, and she knew he loved her.
She remembered being bad sometimes, like eating candy when she wasn't
supposed to, or putting on her best dress to just play around the house
and getting it torn. She remembered that her dad made her go to her
room for a time out. Her memory of sitting in her room was that,
however mad or sad she felt, she knew what she had done wrong, and that
when her time was up she could snuggle with her dad and he would
comfort her.
She had many frightening memories of her mom
screaming at her, face contorted with rage. She didn't think her mother
had beaten her, though she could picture her mother grabbing her hand
and yanking her along while Jill stumbled along behind, trying
desperately to stay on her feet. And her thought was Why? What have I
done wrong? She remembered that she couldn't figure it out. She felt
she would do anything if only she could get her mommy to love her -- to
feel a smile that was for her just because she was Jill, or to feel
that warm, tender hug.
She remembered hearing her parents
fighting. They usually fought in their bedroom behind closed doors. She
remembered her mother screaming, and her father's low, calm voice
replying. It was not a voice of command, however. The tone, as she
recollected it, spoke of a man placating, calming, and cajoling.
She
was a sound sleeper, so she missed just about everything on the night
that changed everything. She woke to her mother's screams, unfamiliar
male voices and a bit of scuffling. She heard the commotion move to the
yard, heard it move further away, then heard multiple car doors slam
and heard the vehicles drive off.
Shortly after, she heard her
dad tiptoe down the hall to her room, open the door very quietly, and
peek in. Finding her awake and frightened, he had come in and sat on
the bed. He said her mom had been arrested, but he didn't know much
more.
Jill knew her dad was doing his very best to comfort her, but she also
knew that he was badly shaken himself.
Her
mother was Emily Ford, nee Larsen. Her father was Bruce Ford, and she
was Jill Ford. She was six when her mother was taken away.
Emily
Ford had worked as a personal care assistant at the nursing home in
town. It turned out she had quit eight months before her arrest. She
had had problems with absenteeism and irritability with the residents,
and they had been working up to firing her. She had not mentioned to
her husband Bruce that she had quit.
While her husband thought
she was working at the nursing home, she had been working in the
manufacture and distribution of crystal meth. She had been arrested
along with the others in her little group.
Of course her daddy
took her to visit her mother, but the visit had been awkward. Her
mother had never been affectionate, and with the added stress of an
upcoming trial and the shame of being a criminal, she had been unable
to even make eye contact with her daughter. Bruce took her again a week
later. That night Jill woke from a nightmare of her mother screaming at
her and chasing her, then turning into a wolf and biting off her leg.
He asked if she wanted to come sleep with him in his bed, and she had
jumped at the opportunity, and felt safe with him. Her father never
suggested taking her to see her mother again, and she never mentioned
it either.
Losing her mother shook Jill's world. If a parent
could disappear in the middle of the night, what else might happen?
Could her father be next?
Despite that lurking anxiety, in most
ways life got better. Her father was always there with a hug when she
wanted, even when she wanted so many more than before. He still looked
at her with love, and actually saw her. He read to her, and played make
believe with her. He had been largely responsible for her care before,
so not much else changed in day to day life. But everything became
orderly and predictable. They still did new fun things sometimes, but
she knew she could count on the basics.
She realized that her
mother had scrambled everything up when she was around. Jill hadn't
known what would happen next. Meal times were erratic. Sometimes they
went out on picnics as a threesome and spent a glorious afternoon
together. Other times her mother would just disappear. Sometimes dinner
would be late, and there was always the danger that her mother would
yell at her for something.
When it was just her and her father,
dinner was on time. He tended to cook the meals she liked best --
though he made her eat her vegetables too. She had chores. She was
supposed to set the table for dinner and clear her own dishes to the
dishwasher. When she took off her clothes at night, she was to put them
in the hamper and not leave them scattered all over the floor. If she
didn't follow a rule, her father would warn her, and if that didn't
work, she got a time out. But he never yelled at her. If she was
furious at him, he would accept her anger calmly, and she would often
end up snuggling on his lap. First she had to do her timeout, though.
He
sat with her during her bath times and helped with the hair wash. He
toweled her dry all over, though she could have done that herself.
Before bedtime he helped her pick out clothes for the next day.
The worst
of
her daily routine was when he combed her hair. Her hair was shoulder
length already, and she was determined to let it grow as long as it
would get. It had to be brushed, and it was harder because her hair was
curly. Her father had to brush it every morning, and it was a
frustrating process. He started at the ends and first got those combed,
then proceeded gradually upward to her scalp. All along the way were
snarls that needed to be worked out. He tried to be gentle, but it just
hurt sometimes. She yelped and sometimes stamped her feet in
frustration. Her dad kept offering to get it cut shorter to avoid the
whole problem, but she wouldn't hear of it. She wanted long hair.
She
had only one unsettling memory from that happy phase of her life. It
was the memory of her father staring off into space. She didn't know
how to interpret his expression at the time, but she knew it wasn't
right. Later she knew it meant he was lost and confused himself.
However good a job he did making a warm, predictable, loving world for
her, he was searching for his own bearings.
After
her mother-as-wolf nightmare, her dad suggested she sleep in his bed
whenever she wanted, and she loved it. He usually lay down with her at
bedtime, spooned against her back. Feeling warm, loved, and protected,
she usually fell asleep quickly. Occasionally she awoke and found he
was gone, but he explained that he got up again to do grown-up things
in the evening, since he didn't need as much sleep as she did. Whenever
she woke after midnight or so he was there next to her.
He also
mentioned at this point that she mustn't tell anyone at school where
she slept at night. He said he was determined to make sure she felt
loved. They weren't doing anything wrong, but people might
misunderstand, and if she told anyone then he might be sent away to
jail. Jill's stomach turned to ice. The prospect of losing her daddy
was terrifying.
Ever since she was a little girl, she remembered
him stroking her as she sat in his lap. He would stroke her hair or her
cheek, her back or her arm. He would massage her toes. She loved it.
She
wasn't sure when she became aware of the change. A few weeks after she
started sleeping in her daddy's bed, his behavior as they sat together
during the daytime changed. He started stroking her chest too, and her
thighs, including the inside of her thighs. His hand sometimes came to
rest on the crotch of her panties.
She liked all that too,
though she felt a little uneasy about it. Or did she? As she sat
reminiscing in the present, she thought she could remember her younger
self feeling it, but she also knew that memory was tricky. Knowing in
the present that what he had done was wrong, was she projecting that
knowledge backwards to make her 6-year-old self feel uneasy about it?
She thought she remembered his suddenly taking his hands away, as if he
knew he shouldn't be touching her like that.
Like
most children, she didn't want to go to bed. After the last story,
there came the dreaded moment when the lights would go out and her
father would curl up behind her. Although she liked his presence, she
still wanted to be up and playing.
In answer to her pleas, he
suggested he give her a backrub. He explained that that helped people
relax and fall asleep. So she lay on her stomach and loved the feel of
his hands gently massaging her shoulders and back. Sometimes she fell
asleep with his hands gently stroking her back. A few nights later he
started massaging her scalp and her neck. Sometimes he kissed her ear,
which made her giggle at first. He might nibble it or lick it, then
lick her cheeks and a bit of her neck.
He suggested she take her
nightgown off so he could massage her skin directly, and she liked that
even better. Then he massaged every inch of her back, and each arm. He
massaged each little butt cheek through her panties, then massaged her
toes and her legs too. It was several days later that he started
rubbing the inside of her thighs too, and she happily spread her legs a
little so he could reach every inch.
After back-rubs were part of their bedtime routine, he added another
stage: he had her turn over for a front rub.
After
she turned over, he always started with a kiss. Not too long after the
two of them were on their own, he had taught her to kiss briefly on the
lips. Kisses felt especially loving. But in their bedtime routine, he
didn't stop with a single brief kiss. He gave her one, but then a
second, then another, and another. Then they got chained together one
after another, and then each kiss got longer. She liked that.
She
knew those kisses made her feel funny inside in a different way from
the other things. She knew she liked that different feeling. Whether
she also felt uncomfortable with it -- that she couldn't remember.
Then
he proceeded with the front rub itself. He didn't massage her arms or
legs again, since he had already done those while she was on her back.
No, he concentrated on the parts he couldn't reach while she was on her
back. He rubbed all over her front, chest and belly and down to where
her panties started. She noticed he spent more time in each session
rubbing or caressing all around her tiny nipples.
Once she was
on her back, he repeated one massage he had done before. He carefully
stroked and kneaded up the inside of each thigh. Naturally she spread
her legs so he could get at them more easily.
At the top of her
legs was the only area of her body he hadn't touched yet. He massaged
her private parts through her panties. While in most places he would
caress for a few seconds, and then rub hard, in this spot he caressed a
long time and never did give a deep massage. The caresses felt good, in
the same way the kissing felt good. Even better. Did it also feel yucky
and wrong? Or was that again a projection back onto her past self in
light of what she knew later?
She learned that that was the end
of the massage. Sometimes she turned over and went to sleep quickly,
but sometimes she just lay there on her back, legs apart, and fell
asleep while her daddy was gently stroking, stroking, stroking her
private parts through the fabric of her panties. She loved her daddy so
much.
After
her mother was gone, her father had gotten more casual about nudity.
She had glimpsed his sex organs before, but now he made no attempt to
hide them from her. He had his dangly tube and the little sac and the
lush growth of hair above. It seemed very foreign to her; she had
absolutely nothing like that at all on her own little body. She giggled
the first time she saw him standing up and peeing into the toilet, that
long thin stream coming out the tip of his penis and splashing down
into the bowl.
When she started taking off her nightgown to
allow a nicer backrub, he took his pajamas off too. She wore only her
panties, and he wore only his underpants. She thought she noticed
something different, though she couldn't tell. Was that penis bulge in
his underpants bigger? Then one time while he lay next to her she felt
something hard pressing against her back, and she knew it couldn't be
anything else.
Although
their bedtime routine became more elaborate and more intimate, nothing
else changed in her life. He still cooked her meals, played with her,
and read to her. They took fun expeditions on weekends sometimes. She
snuggled in his lap whenever she wanted. He listened to whatever silly
stories she wove. Perhaps he looked into her eyes with even more love
than he had before, and he took his time when toweling her dry after
her bath, spending more time than usual between her legs on her labia.
He started opening them a little, saying he wanted to make sure the
inside part was clean too.
He suggested she take her panties off
before their backrubs, and there seemed no harm in that. He had seen
her naked since she was a little girl, and still saw her that way
during every bath.
After that, whenever he massaged her little
girl private parts his fingers were gliding over her smooth flesh, with
no cloth between them. He started opening her lips up a little, and
poking inside. She didn't like that, so she wriggled to signal her
displeasure. He didn't try again.
But he said naturally he would
take his underpants off too. When he did, she was alarmed. The organs
between his legs had always looked alien, but now they were
transformed. His penis was huge, hard and long. It stuck way out from
his body. Somehow it just commanded attention, and something about it
looked dangerous. When she asked him timidly what it was, he told her
not to worry. Penises got like that sometimes. For the first few nights
the erect penis didn't enter into their activities. As he knelt over
her to give her a back rub or front rub it just stuck out and down
between his legs. If he lay next to her she felt it pressing into her
leg. She began to get used to it.
Her father fidgeted and shifted on the bed. Instead of starting her
backrub, he spoke.
"Jill, you know how you like these back rubs?"
"Sure,"
she said. She now had mixed feelings about them, and sometimes wished
she could just go to sleep, but it seemed impolite to turn down her
daddy's kind offers. Even if she was tired, they felt good. Besides,
turning down an activity he suggested and saying she wanted to go to
sleep would set a bad precedent.
"I'm different. I don't really like back rubs. But I want to tell you
about my penis."
He
only glanced up at her briefly as he spoke. "There is something special
my penis does. If I rub it, it feels good, and if I do it enough, some
stuff shoots out the end and I feel really, really good. I'd like to
show you how it works."
He didn't wait for an answer from Jill.
He lay down beside her, took his penis in his hand, and rubbed it up
and down. She noticed he was staring at her -- not her eyes, but her
chest and between her legs. "Here goes!" he panted, and just then globs
of stuff came flying out the end, landing on his chest.
She
giggled, and felt fascinated but also uncomfortable. It shouldn't
bother her to watch him do something that felt good for him. He wasn't
touching her, but somehow it didn't feel right.
"Oh, sweetie, this time I'm going to spurt it on you, OK? It cleans up
easily, right?"
"No, daddy!"
"It's nothing, don't worry."
He
knelt above her as she lay on her back. His huge penis pointed right at
her. Back and forth he stroked, moaning and mumbling. Before long, the
stuff came flying out the tip. The first glob landed on her chin, then
her chest, and the rest dribbled onto her stomach. He moaned and his
face got that dreamy, slack look that he got whenever he spurted the
stuff.
"Daddy, that's gross!" she said.
"I'll clean it up
right away, OK?" he said, reaching for the tissues which were right at
hand. As promised, within seconds it was all cleaned up.
"I don't like this part, daddy!" she said. "Can't we just do back rubs?"
"Well," he seemed uncertain. "I do a lot for you, right? Stories? Make
believe? Meals?"
Jill nodded. He did everything for her.
"Could you do this for me? I don't ask much."
Jill grumbled. "OK, but could you just spurt on you and not on me?"
"That's
part of what makes it so nice for me. And it cleans up easily. Also,
I've thought of another nice thing I can do for you. You can have a
little brownie with ice cream for dessert every night if you let me!"
Jill
woke with a start. Something had just splatted onto her chest. Looking
up, there was her daddy kneeling above her, stroking his penis and
moaning, and as she watched a bit more of the stuff oozed out the end.
"Daddy!" she said.
"Oh, sorry, hon," he said. "I try to do this while you're sleeping now,
so you don't even notice."
His
logic made sense, but she didn't like the idea of him doing things to
her while she was asleep. She woke to his spurting on her chest twice
more over the next several days. Then she woke to find him spurting
right down between her legs, spurting onto her private parts.
He
wasn't hurting her, and it did clean up easily. The brownies with ice
cream were delicious. But there was something about it she just didn't
like.
One night after her bath he opened her labia gently, as had become his
habit. Then he looked again, and then again, and frowned.
"What is it?" she asked.
"There's something that doesn't look right," he said.
"What?"
"I'm not sure, but I need to check something. Come with me to the
bedroom."
He
produced a Q-tip and swabbed it with some jelly from a tube. With the
bright light on, he held her private lips apart again and poked it
against her. She grimaced when felt a little sting as it poked into her.
"It's OK, just a bit more," he said.
She felt the Q-tip wiggling around inside her, then felt it withdraw.
He studied the end of the Q-tip closely.
The next night he again peeked between her labia after bath time.
"I
looked it up on the web. I've got to find out more," he said. When she
was laid out on his bed, he slipped his lubricated little finger up
inside her. It hurt a little, but if it was needed to keep her healthy,
that was OK. It didn't hurt more than having her hair brushed. He
studied his finger carefully after he pulled it out.
The next
day he had a whitish ointment which he said they needed to use to treat
her. He coated his little finger with it and shoved it up inside her.
The little finger hurt less. As the days wore on he poked his bigger
fingers inside, then began poking two at a time, then three. Each new
and bigger intrusion hurt at first, then didn't hurt. Each time he had
the new ointment on his fingers and explained that she needed more of
it.
He treated her vaginal problem just before their regular back rub.
"Am I better?" she asked as they began their back rub.
"Tell
you later," he said. It was a long back-rub session. He sucked on her
nipples extra long, and kissed her a lot. He spread her legs wide and
massaged gently and carefully there for a long time.
"Sweetie," he said. "Here's the thing. The next thing we need to do to
make you better is for me to stick my penis into you."
Jill jumped up.
"What?"
"I know, it seems strange, but that's what you need. The goop that
comes out the end will help you heal."
"I
don't believe you!" she shouted. And from the look on his face she
suddenly knew that the whole thing with her vagina needing treatment
was a lie. "If there's a problem, I want to go see Dr. Greenleaf!" she
said.
"No, no! That's not needed," he said, looking a bit uncomfortable.
She
marched out and back to her own room. She hadn't slept there in a long
time, so she had to clear it of stuffed animals and toys before she
could get into the bed.
"But Jill!" he said, having followed her.
"No, daddy!"
"Jill..." Reluctantly he left.
The
next morning the routine was the same. Maybe he was a little less
careful when he brushed her hair. Maybe he didn't smile quite so much,
but she had her breakfast as always. He had packed a good lunch for
school. Dinner was as usual. There was no brownie and ice cream for
dessert, but that was OK.
"Do you want just a back rub?" he asked that night.
"OK," she said, wary but anxious to make up with her daddy.
This
back rub was more like the early ones, where he really did rub her back
mostly. When he tentatively started massaging his way slowly up her
thighs, she said quietly, "That's OK, daddy, that's enough," then
turned over to sleep. She could tell her daddy was disappointed. It
took her a little longer to fall asleep than usual.
Later that
night she woke with a start. Something was poking her between the legs.
Looking down, she saw her daddy, stroking away frantically on his cock,
but pointing it right against her vagina opening. He was moving his
hips urgently, and the tip was pressing right up against her vagina
lips.
She leapt up. "Daddy! No, that's not OK any more," and stormed off to
her room.
Her daddy groaned.
They followed their routine the next day, except that she slept in her
own bed.
When she got home from school the next day, she knew something was up.
After supper, he sat her down in the living room.
His
tone was a stern one he rarely used with her. "As you know, we have
different chores around here. Yours are to set the dinner table, clear
your dishes, put your clothes in the hamper, and pick up your toys from
the living room."
Jill nodded.
"My chores are to work at
the computer to make us money, shop for groceries, cook meals, make
your lunch, do the dishes, do the laundry, buy you clothes, brush your
hair, vacuum, clean the toilet, and a lot more. You understand?"
Jill nodded.
"From
now on you don't have to set the table or clear your dishes or put your
clothes in the hamper. You have only one chore. And that chore is to
let me touch you any way I want!"
"But daddy!" Jill wailed.
"It's not up for discussion!"
Jill went straight to her room that night.
"Are you going to do your chores?"
"No!"
The next afternoon when she came home from school, her daddy was
waiting for her.
"You didn't do your chores last night. Are you going to do them
tonight?"
"No!" she said.
"Then straight to your room!" he said.
"Huh?"
"Time out".
"But daddy!"
"Into your room -- now."
"Daddy, where is all my stuff?" Her father had removed all of her
favorite things.
"I've hidden it away until you decide to be good."
Jill sat in her room, slumped and miserable. She had her homework to
do, but not much else.
After
supper, she tentatively tried to sit on his lap so he would comfort
her, but she could tell by his body language that she wasn't welcome.
"Are you going to do your chores this evening?"
"No," she said sadly.
"Then back to your room."
Bath
time proceeded as usual. When it was time for drying off, he gave her
labia a cursory pat as he had before all this started. She slept in her
own bed again.
The next day was Saturday, and after breakfast and hair-brushing, she
was sent to her room.
She
thought it over. He did do a lot of things for her, and he was loving
to her and she was always welcome to tell him how she felt. What did he
want to do in bed, exactly? He didn't want to hurt her, she could tell
that. Nothing he had done hurt more than having her hair brushed. All
he was suggesting was putting body parts together in a certain way. He
said it would make him happy and was very important to him. She did
want him to be happy.
After lunch, she spoke.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, dear?"
"I've ... I've decided I'll do my chores this evening."
"Oh, good girl!" he said, giving her a little hug.
She
could tell he was still not quite his old self, but he let her sit in
his lap and cry. He brought all of her toys back down from the attic.
They took a longer trip to her favorite park across town. He cooked her
her very favorite meal, and he gave her a larger-than-normal serving of
brownie and ice cream.
He also mentioned that she must be
especially sure never to tell anyone about her chore. He would
certainly have to go to prison for a long time if she did.
He
gave her a certain smile when he said that, and she didn't like it.
Much later she would realize that his smile came from knowing she was
terrified of losing him, and so she was trapped and in his power.
As
an adult, she wondered what had happened to her dad. He evidently had
some pedophilic tendencies; that much was clear. The incest taboo
stopped many men and restricted their attractions to other men's
daughters, but it didn't stop him. He had been an ideal, compassionate
and loving father. But something had gone wrong. He was so fixed on
possessing her sexually that he somehow dismissed her distress as
unimportant -- something he never did with any of her other bad
feelings.
When she looked at a photograph of herself at that
age, she had a hunch what it was. Her mane of curly blonde hair was a
start. Her wide set, large, and perfectly colored blue eyes helped. Her
clear skin and symmetrical features helped more. But there was
something more, and the end result was that she had been, in the eyes
of men and women alike, a stunningly beautiful girl. She was an equally
stunning woman.
It
felt different from the very start. This time she had to do everything,
and even things she had liked before didn't feel good.
The
backrub part was cursory. He kissed her for a good long while, and she
felt funny inside. He sucked on her little nipples, and the feeling
fluttered again. Then his hand moved between her legs and he gently
massaged. He opened her labia and gently used his finger to explore. He
wasn't doing it clinically, like he had been doing when he was
"treating" her. This was what he had tried before that hadn't felt
right to her. Now it was part of her chore. He found a little spot and
then as he rubbed it gently, that funny feeling became pleasure, and
the pleasure went right down between her legs. She didn't want to feel
pleasure -- it felt yuckier that way.
Then she felt dread as her
daddy climbed on top of her and spread her legs wide apart. He touched
his huge, long, fat organ against her vaginal opening. He paused to
stroke the back of a hand down her cheek, but she brushed him off. He
sighed, then returned his attention to his penis and her vagina. He had
greased his penis with something. As he pressed, she felt something
stretch. It was a surprise, but it didn't hurt. Slowly he wriggled back
and forth, going in a little more each time. She could see his eyes
wide with excitement, but he wasn't looking back at her face, he was
looking at her private parts, the opening to her vagina. Slowly she
felt her vagina stretch and her innards fill, a little more with each
stroke. The last set of fingers he had used during her "treatment" must
have been pretty big, because his penis didn't really hurt her vagina
physically. It felt to her like she was filled up all the way to her
stomach, though in fact her daddy had only gotten in about three inches.
What
had happened so far was gross. It didn't hurt physically but it hurt
her some other way that was very important. Yet she had known what to
expect. Then he surprised her by sliding his penis in and out a lot. He
wasn't going deeper, he was just going back and forth. Was it a little
victory dance -- he had gotten into her and now he was going to
celebrate getting what he wanted? Was he going to rub it in? That
thought made her mad and a wave of revulsion swept over her. She could
see pure pleasure written all over his face as he held himself above
her, eyes closed, sliding his penis in and out. It was probably only
three minutes, but it seemed like an eternity.
As she saw him
pressing a little more urgently and faster, she knew what was going to
happen. He pressed in the farther yet with a huge "Oh, Jill!"
Jill
knew that meant the stuff was spurting out the end of his penis up into
her! She quelled another bit of revulsion. Soon he slowed and then
pulled out, flopping down beside her. After a minute he emerged from
his reverie and looked over at her. She started crying, looking for his
reaction. He held out his arms to her, and she snuggled against him,
sobbing.
"I know you don't really want to do this -- I'm sorry.
But you know part of growing up is paying attention to what other
people want too and compromising."
Jill cried harder for a few
seconds, then her sobs died down and she just rested against her daddy.
He was right; part of growing up was paying attention to what other
people needed too. Painful as it was, he had taught her another lesson
about growing up. She snuggled against her wonderful, loving daddy
before falling asleep.
Recalling that feeling in the present, the grown Jill could barely
control the surge of hatred she felt for her father.
Within a few days he had worked his huge organ all the way into her, up
to the hilt.
She
got used to it. First her vagina got used to it so it didn't hurt in
the least.. She got used to the sensations of the big thing sliding in
and out, and her daddy's body pressed against her, and the urgency
behind his thrusting. That huge pleasure he felt when he spurted gave
her a little thrill.
She began to give in to her own pleasure
instead of fighting it. She didn't have orgasms or anything like that,
but it did feel warm and pleasant.
One morning he didn't just tell her it was time to get up.
"Jill, honey?" he asked. "Time to do your chore again, OK?"
She
groaned inwardly. So far chores had only needed to be done at bedtime.
But she lay back and spread her legs. He grinned at that and mounted
her eagerly. "Oh, sweetie," he whispered. "I want you so much!"
His rod slid into her smoothly. He humped away, and within a couple
minutes she felt his penis bulge and then twitch.
"If you want, sweetie, you can rub by penis instead of having me put it
in you this morning."
She
was content to try, and with some feedback she was soon doing a decent
job, and he spurted. Her arm got tired though. It was a lot more
relaxing when he just stuck it in her and did all the work himself.
One afternoon she plopped into his lap, ready for him to read her a
story. He hesitated.
"Why don't you take your panties off, and then you can sit right on my
cock?"
"Daddy!"
"It will work, sweetie."
And
it worked. She sat on his lap with his penis stuck up inside her. It
wasn't too bad. Every now and then he bounced her up, and she felt his
penis slide out a little, then back in. She was even able to
concentrate on the story. After the chapter was over, she looked at him
questioningly.
"It's OK," he said. "I'm not going to try to spurt."
She recognized the look in his eye as they sat down to dinner. She was
in a pink jumper.
"Come here, stand beside me, OK?" he asked.
When
she did, he reached up under the dress to pull her panties down. He
offered her his middle finger to suck once, which she did. She then saw
the finger drop until it was below the hem of her dress. It went out of
her sight up under her dress, as the rest of his hand pressed upward.
She then felt the finger slide up inside her vagina.
He gave her
a big smile. As he removed his finger and pulled her panties back, up,
he patted her butt. He licked the finger himself.
End of Part 1