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Message-ID: <50804asstr$1111752603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Frank Braun <mazares@hotmail.com>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 24 Mar 2005 20:42:01 EST
Subject: {ASSM} RP: LIFE WITH MY WIFE AND DAUGHTERS - Part VII
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Date: Fri, 25 Mar 2005 07:10:03 -0500
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Copyright (C) 2002 by Frank Braun

mazares@hotmail.com

Emailed comments are welcome.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


LIFE WITH MY WIFE AND DAUGHTERS - Part VII

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in spring, and my oldest daughter, 
Rebecca, 15, and I were in the car, headed home from having dropped off 
my youngest, Rachel, at the home of a friend where she was going to spend 
the night. A slumber party for 11-year-old girls -- frightening thought, 
I mused with a silent grin.

Warm and sunny as it was today, I was in no hurry to return to the 
indoors. I turned to Rebecca and asked, "Is that old quilt still in the 
trunk of the car?"

"I think so," she replied. "Why?"

"Are you in a big hurry for anything?" I said. "I'm thinking we ought to 
stop off at the park for a while. Just lounge around in the sun. What do 
you think?"

"Works for me," she said, cheerfully. "I don't have anything else to do."

My interest, in truth, was in more than the great outdoors. I wanted some 
time to speak with my daughter, alone, away from her mother and sister 
and the confines of our home.

For some months now, I'd been sexually involved with both her and her 
sister; and this situation, stimulating though it was, to say the least, 
was beginning to fill me with a number of doubts, even fears. I needed 
for my daughter, intellectually mature for her age, to help me clear the 
air.

We walked across the main lawn of the park, toward its farthest stretch 
where the green carpet of grass ended and the woods beyond began. It 
being a Saturday, the place was full of people, dogs, kites, and 
bicycles, an endless, relaxed motion of fluid smiles and colors 
punctuated with the occasional shouts and laughter rising above it.

Rebecca held my hand as we walked, the quilt bundled up in her other arm. 
I was a little uncomfortably conscious of the looks she got as we crossed 
the lawn. Her long, wavy, dark brown hair hung free across her shoulders, 
which were bare and creamy white above the bright red tube-top that 
covered her jiggling, apple-sized breasts; and her beautiful behind 
wiggled deliciously in her tight, scandalously tiny, cut-off shorts.

"You're everybody's dream come true," I said, squeezing her hand as we 
passed the little lake in the middle of the park. "They're all looking at 
you and envying me."

"I know," she giggled, looking up at me with her sparkling, near-black 
eyes and squeezing my hand in return. "You love it, don't you?"

I smiled; but in truth, I wasn't sure at all how I felt about it. While 
my daughter might have looked a bit older than her 15 years, she in no 
way looked to be of "legal" age, let alone old enough to be hanging 
around with a guy of my forty-odd years.

I'd always hoped that, when in public, we merely looked like a normal 
father and daughter out minding our business; but I knew we might be as 
easily seen as an old lecher out with his illegally under-aged squeeze. 
Just one of my growing worries.

We reached the edge of the lawn and, behind an ancient oak with a 
massive, broad trunk, we spread out our quilt and sat down. The tree 
concealed us from the masses of people in the distance; and on our side 
of the tree were just a few more yards of grass and the edge of the 
thick, quiet woods. It seemed a comfortable, private place.

"Daddy," said Rebecca, her eyes suddenly serious, deep, "We haven't made 
love in a long time, you know that?"

"I know, sweetheart," I said, entranced by the look on my daughter's 
face. With its wide beautiful eyes and full, sensuous lips, hers was a 
face that could captivate, even hypnotize.

"You're not tired of me, are you?" she said, her eyes seeming nearly to 
plead. We sat side by side but facing each other, and I took her chin in 
my hand.

"Sweet child," I said, and meant it, "I will grow tired of you only when 
I grow tired of living."

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine; our tongues danced 
fervently together, exploring each other's mouths in the first real kiss 
we'd shared in days. And again, as always, my passion was aroused, and my 
snake tried uncomfortably to uncoil in my jeans, as her arms, wrapped 
around my neck, tried to draw me even closer.

At long last I drew back, and cupped her face in my hands. Her eyes 
penetrated my own with a look of deep questioning.

"I need your help," I said. "I need to understand some things."

I laid down on the quilt, my arms folded under my head, still facing her 
where she sat.

"Understand things?" she said. "What do you mean?"

"I really don't know how to start," I said. "But we -- or maybe just I -- 
need to talk some of this out. Can I just say what I think and hope it 
comes out right?"

"Well of course, Daddy," she said, seeming still to be dying of curiosity 
as to what I had to say -- or perhaps as to simply why.

"Bear with me," I began. "I have no idea how much sense this is going to 
make. People -- or society, or whatever you want to call it -- people 
have set ways of doing things, patterns, norms. Life for most people 
proceeds just alike, always following those patterns.

"And our lives -- yours and mine together, mine and your sister's, mine 
and your mother's -- all of it has gone way out of bounds, way far from 
any of the normal patterns. You know that, don't you?"

"Well, yes," she said, but with a look that seemed, nonchalantly, to say, 
"So what?"

"Well," I went on, "as your father I suppose it's part of my job to help 
you grow up within those patterns and norms so that you'll be able to 
operate like everybody else, fit in and be comfortable like everybody 
else -- be normal, I guess I mean to say.

"And by having with you and with your sister the kind of relationships 
that we have, I am terrified that I have made it impossible for either of 
you to do that. I worry that, in some way or ways, I may have absolutely 
destroyed both my daughters -- socially or psychologically, or both. Do 
you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"Well yes, Daddy," she said. Her voice sounded thoughtful and serious, 
but in no way particularly concerned. "But I don't feel destroyed -- I 
mean, that's a strong word. I don't even feel damaged. I feel loved by a 
wonderful father. So I guess I really don't understand."

She scooted closer across the quilt, as though being nearer my face would 
help her better understand what I was trying to say. I laid my arm across 
her lap, my hand on the smooth skin of her waist.

"I suppose I don't doubt," I said, "that -- just within our family -- 
things are working out ok so far under the circumstances. But we live in 
a bigger world, which you might call a bigger family. What do we say to 
them about ourselves?

"I mean, surely girls your age talk together about sex, about boys, about 
all that. And -- God help me, thanks to me -- you must surely have a hell 
of a lot more to talk about than your girlfriends do -- but it's all 
things that you can't dare tell them!"

"Can't?" she said, her eyes still deeply inquisitive. And my heart 
stopped for a split-second as I considered her implication that perhaps 
too much had already been told outside the family. Out of terror, I 
didn't want to explore this. I went on.

"I would assume that by now you're nearly at the point to where you and 
your girlfriends would be sneaking around getting your first sexual 
experience, sexual experiments, with boys your age, and all of you 
wanting to touch and feel -- see what this sex stuff is all about. 
Learning it the stupid, clumsy way like everybody else. And I've taken 
that away from you. I've ruined for you a normal part of growing up.

"In a way, I don't feel guilty. But when I look at the bigger picture of 
the bigger family -- of society -- I wonder if I ought to feel guilty. 
And I start to feel guilty that I don't feel guilty! Am I making any 
sense?" I didn't wait for her to respond.

"And it's not just you and me. It's me and your sister. Dear God, she's 
not even old enough to be thinking about sex at all -- yet I've been 
fucking her as well, pardon my language. And what about your mother? How 
many mothers have to try to live comfortably with the knowledge that 
their husbands are fucking their daughters in addition to themselves?"

I paused -- I had plenty more to say, but couldn't seem to find where to 
go next -- and Rebecca, with a calm, compassionate smile, reached out to 
place a finger across my lips, as though to hush me.

"Daddy," she said, softly. "Daddy." And she just looked at me, a hint of 
tears welling up in her huge, dark eyes. Moving her hand to take hold of 
my chin, she bent over and kissed me lightly on the lips, then squirmed 
around to lie down beside me on her belly, her face looking lovingly into 
mine.

"Daddy," she went on. "I understand what you're saying. When I think 
about it, I know that none of this is normal. But I just don't think 
about it very often. And when I do, all I feel is lucky to share 
something with my father that most girls will never know. Maybe I'm 
missing out on some things they have that -- thanks to you -- I'll never 
have. But they're missing out, too, on the things you've given me that 
they'll never have.

"They've done things their way," she went on, "and we've done things our 
way. I don't see any bad or good. It's just different. I don't know what 
else to say! I think you're just worrying too much."

"I just don't want to hurt you," I said, "or your sister, or your mother. 
We're going places where most people never go, there are no rules, and in 
a way you could say I don't know how to play the game."

"It isn't a game," she shot back quickly. "It's our life. And for me, at 
least, it's beautiful. I'm in love with my father, he's in love with me, 
and I don't know what more I could ask. Please, please don't think you're 
hurting me. You're only making me very happy."

I lay with my eyes closed, feeling my daughter's breath close to my 
cheek, and contemplating her words. It was true; I was madly in love with 
my daughter -- not just as a father, but as a lover. But I was filled 
with doubt. Of course, she could say what she had just finished saying, 
and mean every word of it. But was she old enough, mature enough, to know 
whether she was really happy, to know whether I was or wasn't harming her 
-- for now, or for her future?

"Daddy," she whispered, her lips now in my ear, her body shifting to lie 
partly on top of mine. "Please, just hold me, make love to me -- and stop 
worrying. I know that you love me and that you would never hurt me. Just 
make love to me. Please. Now"

Obviously -- for now, at least -- there was no more room for thinking or 
for doubts. Gently, I rolled my daughter off me and onto her back, my arm 
encircling her neck, and pressed my lips to hers, passionately probing 
the depths of her mouth with my tongue. She groaned, almost gratefully, 
as my free hand slid under her top to fondle her growing breasts; and by 
the time I had pulled the little garment down to her waist, her pink 
nipples were erect, pointing straight upward into the spring air.

Almost frantically, she grabbed my hair with both her hands as I moved 
downward to trace the outline first of her jaw, then of her neck, with my 
tongue; and nearly forcibly she guided me downward to nibble and suck at 
her nipples.

How long had it been, indeed, since she and I had made love? Beneath me, 
her pelvis rose and fell almost wantonly with the desire of one gone too 
long without satisfaction. And not only her -- my cock was hardening, 
straining painfully against my jeans.

As though reading my mind, Rebecca reached down with both hands, 
hurriedly trying, and finally succeeding, at unfastening and opening my 
fly as I crouched above her. Free now, and clasped in my daughter's 
hands, my penis quickly filled out to its full, stiff nine inches.

"Lie down," she whispered hoarsely, and I did as she asked. Sitting up 
beside me, she held my hard cock up vertically for a while, staring at it 
and fondling it lovingly, before she began stroking it in long, slow, 
firm strokes that in no time turned my merely erect penis into an 
unbelievable, stone-like hardness.

Shifting her position to lie, bare-breasted, across my thighs, she 
lowered her head -- her dark, fiery eyes never leaving my own -- to touch 
the tip of her tongue to the head of my cock, then take it slowly into 
her mouth.

Her lips wrapped tightly around me, her tongue slowly, even lasciviously, 
began to bathe and suck at my swollen cock-head while she stared, almost 
tauntingly, into my eyes.

"More," I groaned. "Deeper!" My pelvis shoved upward, trying 
involuntarily to plunge more deeply into her mouth -- while, with her 
hand, Rebecca kept only the head enclosed in her lips. Only when she felt 
like it did she at last descend a little deeper, a bit at a time, and 
with near-painful slowness, until half my cock was buried in her mouth.

From there, and no deeper, she sucked me, moving her head slowly up and 
down, never descending below the half-way point. Until, without warning, 
she suddenly plunged herself down on the whole length of my cock and 
stayed there -- my cock twitching uncontrollably, its head buried 
somewhere deep in her throat.

There she stayed for seeming eternity, my pelvic muscles straining to 
prevent my coming prematurely. At last, she slowly raised her head as I 
watched the length of my shaft slide back out of her precious mouth, then 
back in again, as again she descended upon me. 

A few more of these exquisite, spine-tingling strokes -- which had 
brought me to the very edge -- and she suddenly moved off me. Fidgeting 
in a half-lying, half-sitting position, she wrestled the tight cut-offs, 
and the flame-red panties beneath them, down over her hips, down her 
thighs and legs, and finally off, tossing them aside.

For a brief moment, she stood beside me on her knees, facing me, wearing 
only the tube top, now crumpled around her waist like a belt; while, 
shamelessly, I admired my daughter's ivory belly, her tidy, jet-black 
patch, and her milk-white womanly thighs -- then she moved again, now 
straddling me, sitting nearly on my balls.

With her hand, she again took up my cock and began stroking it, jacking 
me off I as watched her small, delicate fingers struggling to reach all 
the way around my shaft. With a suddenness as though she'd seen a 
movement from the corner of her eye, Rebecca turned for a moment to her 
right, seemingly watching something, then turned back, smiling curiously 
at me with a fleeting smile that was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

The motion of her hand stopped and she raised herself, positioning the 
now-throbbing head of my cock at the warm, wet opening to her womanhood.

"I want you, Daddy," she breathed heavily. "I want you deep inside me!" 
And not waiting for a movement from me, she suddenly dropped her entire 
weight on my penis, sliding nearly painfully to its base, impaling 
herself on my rock-hard cock. She whimpered -- nearly too audibly for so 
public a place -- and sat there for a moment, arching her back, thrusting 
her beautiful belly toward me, and squeezing both her breasts with her 
hands.

Paralyzed by my passion, I lay there staring into my daughter's beautiful 
face, her eyes fully staring into mine, her lustrous hair framing her 
sweat-glowing features and falling wildly about her shoulders, her hot, 
damp 15-year-old womanhood squeezing the life out of my cock as her pouty 
lips hung open with heavy breathing.

Finally, she lowered herself forward to lie fully on my body, my cock 
still buried to its hilt in her warmth, her legs clamped tightly around 
my thighs. I nearly came when, of a sudden, she darted her tongue into my 
ear; I grabbed her fleshy ass with both hands to steady myself.

"Daddy," she whispered furtively in my ear. "Daddy," she said again, as 
though she enjoyed mouthing the word. "Fuck me Daddy. Fuck me hard. And 
never stop. Fuck me forever."

At this point, I could not have prevented myself, nor did I need any 
urging. My cock by now had a mind of its own, the pelvis beneath it out 
of control. Slowly, at first, I began stroking, plunging my cock deep 
into my daughter's cunt, pulling it nearly all the way out, then casting 
it deep inside again, her hips rising and falling with my motions, her 
ass-cheeks clasped tightly in my hands.

"Yes, Daddy," she continued to whisper, her breath hot in my ear. "Yes, 
Daddy, like that. Fuck me! Fuck your little girl. Tell me you love me!"

My mouth could find no word beyond a grunt; only my cock could speak at 
this moment, and it spoke harder, faster, as I thrust wildly at my 
daughter's womb, my ass thrashing madly around on the quilt.

"Oh holy Jesus," Rebecca suddenly whimpered, as though nearly crying, her 
lips still near my ear. "I'm coming, Daddy, I'm coming. Don't stop!"

Our faces, bathed in sweat, were practically touching; I watched my 
daughter's wide eyes light up with a frantic kind of fire; watched her 
mouth hang open with her panting; felt her cunt begin to squeeze nearly 
in spasms around my near-bursting cock as I pounded her harder and 
harder.

With one hand still clasping her heaving little ass, I moved the other to 
pull her face down into the hair of my chest, just in time to smother the 
sound of her screams as she came violently, shuddering, shaking all over 
me. With an effort, I stilled my movements to feel the spasms of her 
whole pelvic area as they squeezed and vibrated througout my own. She may 
as well have come for us both.

After a moment, my cock still buried deep inside her, she lay finally 
limp and still across me. It was as though she was nearly unconscious.

But I was not. Without withdrawing from her now-sopping cunt, I rolled us 
over so that I now lay on top of my daughter. Leaning on one elbow, I 
looked into her eyes as I wiped the sweat from her forehead and slowly, 
very slowly, moved my cock into and out of her womb.

She whispered, hoarsely, slowly, as though in a trance.

"I love you, Daddy. I love you so very much!"

"Dear God, sweet child," I whispered with equal, exhausted hoarseness. 
"How I love you, too!"

And now, unable to control it any longer, I let go of my passion. In 
huge, violent thrusts, I began fucking my daughter as hard as I could. 
With each throw of my hips, each plunge of my cock, I watched as her 
growing breasts jiggled, as her hips moved a few inches more across the 
quilt, as her eyes squeezed shut, and then open again, with something 
between pain and pleasure.

We had moved a full six feet across the quilt, and my daughter was 
sobbing heavily with her arms wrapped around my shoulders, her legs 
around my thighs, as I finally came -- perhaps the most intense orgasm of 
my life -- feeling as though I were shooting painful gallons of hot cum 
into my daughter's womb. I buried my face in the sweaty nook between her 
neck and shoulder to stifle the groans that came uncontrollably out of me 
as I pounded her one last, violent, painful blow before finally 
collapsing on top of her, exhausted, spent, sated.

We lay there, glued together with our sweat, she sobbing and whispering 
in my ear, me struggling to regain my breath.

When I finally raised my head, I let go a quiet, involuntary "Oh shit!" 
in response to what I saw.

"What is it, Daddy?" said Rebecca, turning alarmedly to look in the 
direction in which I stared.

There, barely hidden in the woods a few yards away, was a man, in his 
thirties, kneeling, with his pants down, masturbating. We both looked 
just in time to see him shoot his great wad of cum. It was almost 
humorous -- it was as though he had just started to come mere seconds 
before he'd been caught, and it was too late to stop it now.

Furiously, he jacked himself off, seemingly trying to drain it all as 
quickly as he could -- then stood, pulled up his pants awkwardly, and 
hurried off into the woods.

Rebecca, her face still covered in sweat and tears, broke into a giggle, 
and rested her head back down on the ground. Her smile was contagious, 
and I caught it too.

"What you didn't know," my daughter said, trying to overcome her giggles, 
"was that he was watching us the whole time."

"The whole time?" I said, astonished. "He watched the whole thing?"

"Yep," she said, still smiling. "Guess he got an eyeful!"

I was so infected with glowing love for my daughter that my self-
consciousness was gone as we walked across the whole length of the park 
to get back to the car. Did we look tousled? Did we look like odd lovers, 
perhaps even illegal ones? I didn't care, gave it no thought.

My daughter's hand was clasped firmly in mine, there was happiness in her 
step as we walked, and I felt no need to think about anything else.

Until, that is, we reached the car and were dumping the quilt back into 
the trunk.

"Daddy," Rebecca said, her voice seeming again quiet, serious.

"Yes, sweetheart."

"I understood everything you said earlier. And you were right to think 
and say all of it."

"But?" I injected -- I knew there was going to be a "but."

"But," she went on, looking deeply into my eyes, "you worry too much 
about the other people. If we're different, then why should we care? But 
guess what -- " she paused, almost nervously, then went on -- "We may not 
be as different as you think."

"What -- " I began, but she cut me short.

"It's been a wonderful day today," she said, smiling again. "Can we talk 
about it another time?"

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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