The ride home was quiet. I had finally loaded the boat on the trailer and secured everything for travel. She was cold from the ride in , so I just had her sit in the truck with the heat on.  She had grabbed my jacket and covered herself over and was starting to drift off to sleep.  The entire time I was loading up the truck, the rational part of my brain tried to explain to the worried part of my brain what had happened and why I was hard.  Was it from actually seeing my little Angel?  Was it that other people saw my little Angel?  Was it that she didn't notice and it was just naivete on her part?  Or, God forbid, she was aware of it and did it intentionally?  My stomach blanched at that thought and whatever lingering firmness I had quickly disappeared and I was able to focus on the task at hand.


She slept the entire trip home and I let her just go inside to sleep off the rest of the early morning.  I did my normal routine of washing the boat and trailer down, checking the grease packings on the connectors and axles, washing the coolers and bait bucket.  It wasn't just busy work to keep my mind occupied, but I was glad it was there.  I went in and showered and my Angel woke up for a late lunch. She was still groggy and a little hungry so I offered to make us some lunch while she showered to wake up.


We spent the day watching movies and just relaxing on the couch.  Around 8:00pm we switched over to regular TV and had pizza delivered.  As we were eating, she ended up sitting cross legged on the couch and her night shirt, which was actually one of my own shirts, had ridden up to her hips.  Then, in a painfully vivid instant, the image of her bare privates on display from the boat ride came slashing back at my heart and I felt a pain in my chest.  Catholic guilt is such a wonderful thing, no?  Without prompting, or even conscious thought, I felt my dick start to harden against my leg.  The way I was sitting had it restricted and that only served to draw more awareness to it and in turn, make it try to get harder.


What the hell was wrong with me?  Why was my dick getting hard at the sight of my Angel's little panties??  What was proffered before me now was much more tame than the full, unobscured view I had had this morning, but the effect was nevertheless the same! I was getting hard from seeing my little Angel's panties and it was making my stomach churn.  I put the pizza down and excused myself to go to the bathroom.  As I was getting up, I made a passing comment for her to sit like a lady.  She just straightened her legs and pulled her shirt to cover her thighs, her eyes never leaving  the TV screen.


In the bathroom, I forced myself to pee so I would at least go soft and I let the guilt wash over to me to further kill the erection I was so desperately trying to disavow.  When I returned, she was back on the couch, curled in a ball under the blankets.  I let her rest a while longer then I sent her off to bed.  Around 9:00, I switched over to HBO to watch a movie and it was had a boating scene and once again, those damned images came flooding back to my brain.  This time however, I was determined to try to figure out why my dick was betraying my good sense, at least the good sense I thought I had.


I let my mind drift back to the camp site when all four of us were under the roof.  I tried to remember the looks on their faces, the eye glances past my shoulder  I tried to force myself to remember if I saw them adjust their junk, or if there were bulges.  I know there were whispered comments between then intentionally meant for me to not hear.  I fast forwarded to the boat ramp when I looked over and saw her legs splayed open and that painfully clear view of her perfectly shaped, peach nestled so innocently within her shorts.  Her bikini bottoms loosened and off to the side allowing a clear view at her.  It was like a painfully vivid photograph plastered in my brain. I could see every single detail in guilt ridden clarity; the pale white of her thighs, the soft puff of her labia, the innocent cleft between the two halves, even the small, extra folds at the very top which I could only assume would be the start of where her clit hood would start to form.

Sitting here now... I can't tell you what I was feeling.  I was mad. I know that. I was pissed off.  Those two douche bags were looking at my Angel's bare parts.  They were making comments, maneuvering into positions to see her more clearly, and just savouring the view!  That was it!  They were "savouring" it!  They were enjoying it to the very fullest they could and I was too blind to pick up on it.

I was guilt ridden.  Of that there was no doubt.  That familiar, burning, sick-to-my-stomach feeling that came creeping back every time I realized my dick was responding sexually at the thought of my Angel's panties, or worse, the thought of her bare privates.

I reached into my shorts to adjust my now stiffening cock. But once it was moved and free of the pain of being restricted from swelling, my hand stayed on it. I slowly stroked it, once again thinking about what the guys had seen. I was reliving the looks and gestures the guys had made. How excited they were.  The idea of them watching her was making me harder and I didn't even know why I was even jerking off.  I felt the usual build up.  The stretch of the skin as the shaft swelled.  The heaviness of it in my hand as blood pumped into my organ.  My balls tightened and ached a little. Then it was there.

My eyes rolled up into my head and my breathing stopped.  The French have a phrase for orgasms that I love. La petite mort, "the little death."  That's what it feels like.  That's what it felt like.  And on so many more levels than I can iterate here with mere words, it was the metaphorical death of a certain part of me.  I have gone back through all of these events from then to now, and I know in my heart of hearts, in the deepest, darkest, most hidden closet of my soul, that had I not allowed myself to have this "little death" that I would not be in the circumstance I am in now.

I let myself go.  I let the weeks of pent up sexual energy erupt from me.  I let the flood of hormones bury whatever guilt there was laying at the surface of my rational mind.  I leaned back and let my legs lock up.  I lifted my hips up off the chair thrusting my fully erect cock up into the air.  I imagined those two perverts sitting at their own homes, the very way I was now, thinking of my little Angel.  I could imagine them pumping their hard, aching cocks looking at my Angel's bare pussy.  I could see her sitting on the concrete slab, her knees flopped open, her shorts and bikini bottoms moved off to the side.  That beautiful, hairless peach just enticing all of our cocks to a maddening tumescence.  Clear pre cum leaking from our cocks.  The grunts, the slapping sound of heavy balls churning up thick creamy cum.

Then... in a terrible, heart wrenching instant.  The Angel in the image of my mind, looked up at us with those beautiful innocent eyes, that coy smile, and she looked so deeply into my eyes, down into my soul, blasting through that buried closet door within my soul and she spread her legs even wider for us... for me.

I came hard.  I erupted with force.  So much cum was trying to leave through such a painfully small opening it felt as if my piss hole was being torn wider.  The first blast hurt.  The second blast had momentum, and drive, and felt like double the volume of the first messy blast.  I remember the heat of it.  I remember that first blob landing on the circle formed by my thumb and forefinger as it strangled the life out of my sinful cock.  The mixture was so hot, it made me open my eyes.  I thought I had peed.  All I had done was open my eyes in time to see my swollen head, the small piss slit training under the force of that second powerful blast erupting from my loins.  I can still see that long, crazy rope of cum silhouetted against the back drop of the TV screen.  I grunted "NO!" as I fell back against the couch in rigor as another incestuous blast of cum exploded from my balls.  I grunted again and finally took a breath, a sharp painful intake of air as my "little death" subsided and only the after shocks and body twitches of my orgasm took over.  Muscle control returned and I loosened the death grip I had on my poor cock, which, by the way, was still panting and trying to spew out more of that incest-ridden load, the hard fire hose blasts of cum, now only small rivulets leaking onto my belly and clothes.

If you've ever seen an item moving in front of a TV screen that is on, then you know that it looks almost like those strobe lights they use in night clubs so it looks like people are moving in stop motion photography.  That blast of cum that shot up in front of the TV was just that very image.  I screamed "no" because reality came pounding through my hormone addled brain and the rational part realized that I had not only masturbated thinking of my daughter, but thinking of her letting other men see her, and that I had orgasmed from my little Angel.

I sat back in the couch just wondering what the hell I had just done.