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Subject: i n c e s t story: "A Gift for My Dad" 60995
From: rabinofben@yahoo.com
Date: Sat, 28 Jan 2006 21:04:26 +0000
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of incest histories ===> www.incesttoday.com
A Gift for My Dad
I woke slowly, peering blurily through my tangle
of golden curls. Last night's champagne started to
make its presence felt in the form of a killer
headache.
Moving slightly, I remembered what had happened
and whose body was underneath me. After a
successful graduation ceremony and an evening of
fine dining and dancing, I had made love to my
father. It had been a sensual, sexy and beautiful
experience. My father's hard body was supporting
me now and his thick cock rested inside my pussy.
I was no longer a virgin. I had given that gift to
my father. He was reluctant to take it from me,
horrified at the thought, but finally came to
appreciate the love I felt for him.
I felt him stir beneath my tender breasts and I
turned my head to look into his eyes.
"Morning Dad," gazing into those sparkling
emeralds. A mumbled response made its way through
his sensitive lips.
The moment he recalled what had happened last
night, I saw his eyes fly even wider apart and he
started to apologize.
"Shhhh. Please Daddy. Don't spoil it. I love you
even more now than I ever have before."
With a sigh, he closed his eyes and let his head
fall back against the satin covered pillow. His
hands slid around my waist and glided down over my
firm cheeks. They massaged and fondled me, and I
felt his cock stiffen inside of me. Suddenly, his
hands stopped.
"Oh, Beth. I can't do this with you. Please, get
up and let me have a shower. We need to discuss
this. Oh, my head!!!"
Groaning, he rolled me over onto the other side of
the bed, extracting his dick from my tight hole
with some reluctance but bound by his morals -
incest was wrong.
He staggered into the bathroom, shutting the door
quietly behind him. I heard the shower running
strong and fast.
I rose from the bed and felt pain between my legs.
My pussy was ultra sensitive and felt sore and
battered. But I needed more. I was addicted now,
and I craved my father.
Waiting a little longer, knowing that Dad loved a
really hot shower in the mornings, I opened the
bathroom door a sliver and slipped into the
steamy, moist room.
Through the swirling clouds, I could make out his
toned form leaning against the tiled shower wall.
The water gushed over his muscled chest and
trickled down his sculpted legs. He looked tired
and despondent, his shoulders sagging, his head
hanging to the side.
And I knew just how to cheer him up! I crept
noiselessly up to the frosted glass door of the
shower and let myself in. I pressed my body
against his, curving my body around his back and
butt. My hands reached round and touched his
nipples.
Jumping with fright, Dad spun round to face me.
"Beth!" he roared. "What are you doing!"
"Calm down, Daddy. You'll make our hangovers
worse. But I think I know a way to forget all
about them."
"No, honey..." but the rest of his sentence was
lost as I covered his mouth in tiny kisses. My wet
pussy moved along his thigh and my breasts slipped
against his broad, muscular chest.
"Please Daddy. It's what I want, what I need." My
breath tickled his ear as I whispered my desire.
Focussing my gaze squarely on those mirror image
green eyes, I sensed his resolve slipping. He
leaned forward and thrust his mouth forcefully
onto mine, kissing me passionately. Pausing for a
breath, he moaned, "Oh my baby, my beautiful
little girl."
He then resumed his exploration of my mouth,
probing me with his tongue, drawing me into him
and sucking my own tongue in his moist mouth. Our
hands roamed restlessly over each other. I slipped
my hand between our tightly pressed bodies and
found his hard, erect cock. Working my fingers
around that thick shaft, I pumped it back and
forth, bringing it closer and closer to my aching,
needing pussy.
Dad's hands massaged my tits, pulling and kneading
my receptive nipples. Little pinches and tiny
twists and suddenly, I was there. I didn't know if
I could wait any longer, I wanted that cock inside
me now. I pushed my hips hard against him, hoping
to transmit my desire.
And to make sure he had no doubts, I cried, "Fuck
me Dad. Fuck me, please!"
With a swift, smooth movement, he lifted me up and
held me against the tiled wall. Slowly, he lowered
me down onto his throbbing, eager shaft. I was so
wet with pussy juice and water that he slid into
me without any trouble or needing any force. A
perfect fit.
Together we groaned our lust. "Oh yes, oh God,
yes." Holding tight onto his shoulders, he rocked
his hips and moved that thick rod back and forth
inside me. I could feel our passion and desire
growing and exploding. Faster and faster he pumped
into me, slamming his cock deeper with every
thrust.
I was unable to speak, unable to form any
intelligible words. I groaned and whimpered,
encouraging him simply with movement and sound.
He was fucking his little daughter so fast now, I
could barely stand it. In and out, he seemed to
slide like lightning. Like the pistons in a
powerful machine, his shaft plunged into my
stretched pussy lips, hitting my womb deep inside.
Grunting with pleasure, I sensed he was almost
ready to cum. And so was I. I was desperate to
release my juice over him and experience his hot
sweet sperm shoot deep into me.
Slamming and screaming, we fucked faster and
harder until finally, it was there. We came in a
glorious explosion, panting and kissing each
other. His cum spewed in loads into my pussy as my
pussy walls spasmed and drew every last drop out
of that incestuous cock.
"Oh Daddy, fuck Daddy, I love you."
"My Beth, my darling, how much I love you too."
Slowing down, weak and wobbly, he raised me off
his dick and put me back onto the shower floor.
"Get out now, Beth. Get dried and dressed and make
your old Dad some breakfast. Then we need to
talk."
We parted with a final long, searching kiss and I
did as he instructed.
Fifteen minutes later, he was seated at the
breakfast table, playing with his scrambled eggs,
listlessly dragging his fork around the plate. He
smelled so fresh and clean. His blond hair looked
darker, slicked back and still damp.
I watched him until I could bear it no longer.
"What is it Dad? What's wrong? "
"Beth, sweetheart, I had hoped to spare you this
story but I feel I have to tell it to you now,
before things between us get worse. You need to
know the truth."
"What are you talking about Daddy? What truth?" I
was starting to feel nervous and frightened. What
on earth was going on?
He tenderly held my hand and led me into the
lounge room. I curled up on our sofa and he
relaxed into the reclining chair. Hesitating,
fumbling, he began to speak.
"Beth, have you ever wondered why we don't speak
more about my family? About your mother,
grandparents and cousins?"
"Not really Dad. I remember asking you about Mum
once when I was about 7 but you looked so sad and
distant when you said she had died, I figured it
hurt you too much to speak about it. I can't
remember Mum, so I have never missed her or needed
her. You have been everything to me."
"Honey, your Mum has passed away, that's true but
it happened much later than you realise."
"You mean she has been alive and you never told
me? Never let me speak to her?" Indignant and
angry, I was ready to fling myself on him and
pound into his chest.
"Bethie, baby, let me start at the beginning and I
hope I can do justice to the tale.
"My mother was only 15 when she fell pregnant with
me. It was an accident - at that age it always is.
But my father stood by her and they married. None
of their parents was particularly pleased at the
situation, however, they all pulled together and
supported my parents, knowing how important it was
to give this young couple the best of care."
Daddy rose from his chair and came to sit next to
me at this point. We held hands and softly stroked
each other, close and at ease. I relaxed and
listened attentively. He then continued his story.
"So my mother gave birth when she was 16 and dad
was only 17. Young, but so in love and totally
devoted to each other. For many years, everything
was perfect. Sure, they struggled, scrimped and
saved but they were happy. They had a little
family and a little apartment and parents who
supported and loved them.
"When I was around 8 years old, things started to
change. My mother became withdrawn and depressed.
She seemed unable to cope with me, with life, with
anything. She spiraled down and down. It was
barely noticeable at first, however after 18
months everyone could see she wasn't well. She saw
numerous doctors, therapists of all types and God
knows how much medication she was on. Nothing
seemed to help. The depression held her tighter
and tighter in its grip. Our home changed. The
shopping didn't get done, dishes were left in the
sink and everything felt dirty. My father did his
best. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough.
"He started spending more and more time at work.
Not knowing how to cope, how to help his sick
wife. Day and night he was locked away in his
office.
"I learned how to take care of myself as best as I
could. I went to school, studied hard and tried my
best around the house. But I felt so neglected and
unloved. It hurt when I tried to make physical,
affectionate contact with my own mother and she
wouldn't respond. She just pushed me away."
Tears were streaming down my cheeks. My poor,
lonely father. How awful! He wiped my tears away
with a caring hand and resumed his monologue.
"After about 3 years, things improved. It was a
gradual process but eventually, my mother had
returned to her old loving self and my father was
suddenly around more. I was so happy although a
little wary. And for a few years, it was great!
Life was fantastic. We played sport together, went
on family holidays, and just enjoyed being with
each other.
"And then, oh God Beth, it started again. I was
about 17 and my mother started to slip away. Only
this time, she didn't even try the doctors or
medication. She grabbed the bottle and spent most
of her time tipsy, drunk or passed out. And again,
Dad drifted off. During the day I am positive he
worked harder than ever, but nights? Well, I have
suspicions that he was no longer alone at night.
"My parents didn't make it to my high school
graduation. I was totally alone. That was why I
was so determined to attend your graduation. It is
one of the most important events in a young
persons life and I was unwavering in my desire to
be there for yours. Nothing was going to keep me
from watching you cross that stage and accept your
Diploma, Beth."
When I heard this resolution, I turned and kissed
my Daddy squarely on the lips, playing with his
mouth and stroking his cheek with my hand. "Thank
you for being there for me, Daddy. I appreciate it
and love you for it."
"You're welcome, Beth. I wouldn't have missed it
for the world.
"I managed to find some money and with grants and
loans, went off to college. I came home every
holiday to spend time with my parents and over
that four years, I could see the improvements my
mother was making. That terrible depression was
lifting and she was breaking away from her
alcoholic habits. When I saw my parents together,
they acted as if there were teenagers again. They
were totally in love with life and devoted to each
other. It was bizarre the way they slid from one
extreme to the other.
"Then, when I visited them during my senior year,
I received the shock of my life. My mother was
pregnant again! Can you imagine? She was 38 years
old and 6 months pregnant with her second child.
And she was glowing. Absolutely radiant. And my
father, boy, you'd think it was his first child.
Had they forgotten about me completely?
"My next trip home from college was my last. I had
graduated and moved back to town. I rented a
little flat and managed to land a job with the
local gym.
"By now, my mother had given birth to a little
angel. Her daughter was the sweetest, most
cherubic child you could ever imagine. The first
time I saw her, I fell totally and hopelessly in
love. This little girl smiled at me, as if she
knew exactly who I was and I knew my life would
never be the same.
"I dropped in on the family every opportunity I
had. The little angel just grew sweeter, happier
and more lively with each visit. How I adored her!
But of course, it didn't last.
"When I was about 24 years old and my precious
sister was 2 years old, that ferocious depression
came back with a vengeance. My mother spiraled
down much faster than before and alcohol and
prescription drugs kept her company. I couldn't
bear the thought of that sweet, tiny girl being
neglected and feeling unloved at such a young age.
"I confronted my parents and told them what I was
going to do. My father just looked defeated and
turned away. My mother didn't even seem to
comprehend what I was saying and the action I was
taking. In a manner of speaking, I kidnapped my
little sister. I stole her away from that
heartbreaking situation and drew her to me.
"I was resolute that no matter what it took, I
would care for and shower this beautiful creature
with as much love as humanly possible."
Daddy paused and turned to stare at me.
Comprehension was dawning slowly in my overwhelmed
mind.
"Do you understand, Beth? You are not my real
daughter, you are my sister!"
As the word sister rang over and over in my ears,
the lounge room faded away and became black.
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