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Saturday, 13 March 2010

Bewi Aur Betion K Sath Chudai Ka Anokha Maza


I couldn't sleep. I laid flat on my back in the bed, staring at the ceiling. Trying to figure out how to re-write a program at work was keeping my brain going against its will. My 34-year-old wife, Suman, lay on her back beside me, sound asleep. I envied her unconsciousness. I got up and padded into the kitchen, wearing only my white cotton boxers. I got a glass out of the cabinet, splashed a shot of scotch
into it, dropped in some ice cubes, and wandered on into the den, where I switched on a lamp and sprawled out on the couch with the TV remote. Nothing was on at 2:00 AM. I stared mindlessly into the TV set, occasionally sipping on the scotch, while the code for that frigging program kept swirling around through my head. Finally my funk was interrupted by the sudden, silent appearance of my 11- year-old daughter, Simran.

"What are you doing up?" I said, setting my drink on the coffee table. "I can't sleep, " she said, rubbing her eyes. "You too?" I smiled at her. She was a beautiful child -- long, dark Brown hair, big Brown eyes, and milky white skin with still just a hint of baby fat. "Can I watch TV with you?" she said. She stretched, holding her arms in the air above her head, her white t- shirt rising to expose her little belly and the white cotton panties that were all she'd worn to bed with the t- shirt.
"Sure," I said. "Get comfortable." I pulled up to half- sit, half-lie on the couch with my head propped up against its arm; she snuggled in between my legs, she also on her back, with her little bottom in my crotch and her head rested on my shoulder, her face close beside mine.

I suppose I must have fallen back into my mindlessness; it seemed like quite a while before I was brought back to reality when Simran said, "Mmmm... that feels good, Daddy." Only then did I realize I'd been absently moving my hand up and down her little front -- rubbing her tummy for a while, then gently stroking her neck, chin, and face, then back to her tummy again, much like I might have done with my wife had she been there in the same position. "You like that, do you?" I said, a little sorry I was now conscious of pleasuring her -- I felt, now, that I'd better pay attention to what I was doing and stop. "Yes, Daddy, I like it. Don't stop." I placed my hand back on her neck and -- now paying attention to how it felt -- enjoyed the creamy smoothness of her skin. She made another pleasurable little groan, and wriggled her little butt around to settle in and get more comfortable. I felt a sudden, gentle rush of affection for this sweet child of mine and the innocence of her smile and her movements, and I pulled back her thick, dark hair to press a kiss on the side of her neck, just below her ear. She uttered something between a luxurious giggle and another " mmm," and I started to smile too -- then I froze for a moment when I realized that my Lund had twitched into the beginning of an erection, pressed as it was beneath my daughter's bottom. "Do it again, Daddy," she said, unaware of the terror that had momentarily seized my mind. "That felt nice!" Her little smile was irresistible -- and for that matter innocent -- so I dropped the fear and planted another little kiss on her neck.

She purred quietly with girlish pleasure, and I drew a little line up and down the side of her neck with the tip of my tongue. And my Lund moved again, this time beginning to steadily stiffen. I gently took her face in my hand and pulled her head back into my shoulder, and shifted my position to try and relieve the pressure on
my growing Lund. Simran squirmed and moved with me to adjust to my new position, and in the end there was no change -- my lund, now nearly fully erect, was nestled snugly between the cheeks of my baby girl's butt, separated from it only by the cotton of our underwear. In an effort to lose the erection, I tried paying attention to whatever late-night drivel was playing out on the TV -- but Simran suddenly squirmed again and said, "I think there's a rock in my butt!" I chuckled nervously, but she squirmed around some more -- as though to feel it out more thoroughly -- and said, giggling, "There IS a rock in my butt. What happened to your lap, Daddy?"
"Just something that happens to men now and then," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Does it hurt?" said asked, turning her head so that her big Brown
eyes peered curiously into mine, so close I could feel her breath on my face.

"No, sweetheart, it doesn't hurt." Then she scared the hell out of me. She giggled again, and said, "I think it feels good." And saying that, she began slowly sliding the crack of her tiny little Gand up and down the length of my now fully erect Lund. She seemed fascinated by this new experience. Not knowing what to do, I rested my hand on her tummy, gently rubbing it while she wiggled curiously around on my Lund. And now something changed -- a change for which I can find no accurate words. Nothing was said, but we both suddenly knew that we were someplace where we perhaps ought not to be -- but neither of us knew quite where it was, and neither of us did anything to stop it, because it felt good. I was afraid to touch her. I rubbed her smooth little belly with my left hand and cradled her head with my right -- I didn't dare let my hands go anywhere else -- and just let my pelvis move in the natural
rhythm it took as it followed my cotton- clad Lund's ride beneath my daughter's squirming buttocks. Her eyes were wide and solemn, and her breathing uneven, as she
moved -- she knew something very rare and pleasurable was happening between us, but she didn't understand it -- and her whole body rose and fell as I, beneath her, gave up on controlling the thrusts of my throbbing Lund.

"Daddy," she whispered, " this feels good..." "Yes baby," I moaned softly, "Yes baby, it does..." Then I groaned, pressing my face into my baby girl's hair as my lund let loose with great hot spurts of cum -- nearly painful spurts, as squeezed as I was beneath my daughter's tiny Gand. We lay motionless for a few moments, apart from the post- come twitching of my Lund, and then Simran said, "Are you alright,
Daddy?" "Yes, baby, " I said. "I'm alright." I laid there with her cradled in
my arms, stroking her smooth, white face with my hand. "We're all wet, Daddy," Simran said suddenly. "What happened?" My Cum, now cooling, had made a big spot that soaked through my shorts, and on through hers, to make us both wet and sticky. I was
uncomfortable now -- not just with a wet spot, but with confusion over what I had just done. "I guess Daddy had a boo-boo," I said. "We probably ought to try going back to bed now. What do you think?" She didn't say anything. Instead, she turned on her side in my embrace, and pressed a sweet, pouty- lipped kiss on my mouth before
jumping up and heading out of the room and down the dark hallway to her bedroom.
I laid there for only a brief while before rising, switching off the TV and lamp, and stopping by the bathroom where I got rid of the soiled shorts and cleaned myself up. Suman, still lying flat on her back on top of the covers, woke up when I crawled back into the bed. "Where've you been?" she asked sleepily, never opening her eyes.
"Watching TV with Simran," I said. "Simran? What was she doing up at this hour?" Suman stretched as she spoke, raising her knees and beginning to slowly and ntmindedly diddle her black- thatched pubic area. My wife was beautiful, with
olive skin, jet- black hair, and piercing dark Brown eyes that could kill you with their sparkle. After sixteen years of marriage, thanks in part to what I always thought might be a true case of nymphomania; she still turned me on as though I had met her only yesterday.

"Said she couldn't sleep," I said, "just like me." "Hmm," said Suman, responding as though she'd forgotten she asked a question. Her hips were rocking gently as her fingers, ever so slowly, moved around her womanhood, lost in the black thicket of her bush. Possibly I shouldn't have done this. But I have never lied to my wife, nor even withheld anything I felt was important to our relationship. I sat up on the bed, my back leaning against the headboard, my Lund dangling half- flaccid, maybe even obscenely, across my right thigh. "She lay with me on the couch while we
watched TV," I said. There was no reaction; it was as if she wasn't listening.
"I got an erection. A huge hard-on." There was a pause, and then Suman said, "She's a beautiful girl." "You don't seem concerned," I said. "This has me pretty bothered."
Suman sank two fingers into her moist opening, and squeezed her thighs together, hiding both hands in her pubic patch, where they dug hungrily away at whatever need she was trying with such exquisitely lazy slowness to satisfy. "I came," I said, a little annoyed by her seeming disinterest. "I shot my load in my shorts." Her hips bucked up -- seemingly trying to devour her hands -- as I spoke. "Did she know it?" she said. "She knew something had happened. I don't think she understood."
"Was she bothered by it?" "I don't think so." Suman was quiet for a time, still digging away at the itch between her legs. Her voice and breathing were a little uneven when she finally spoke again. "I always wanted my father when I was a child, " she said. If I had been confused while lying on the couch with my daughter,
now I was doubly confused lying here with my wife. "So do you think that's a normal thing?" I asked. "I don't know, " she said, suddenly letting go of her bush and
rolling over on her side with her face practically pressed into my Lund. With her right hand, she took my tired member and brought its head to her lips. She flicked out her tongue and teased it, licking slowly around the tip of it, sucking only the head of it into her mouth, only to roll it back out and take it back in again at her
leisure. I was hardening again, and she started going down deeper and deeper, looking up at me while she took more and more of my thick nine inches down her throat.

Then she stopped abruptly, as soon as my Lund was back to complete and throbbing erection. "Be my Daddy, " she said, her dark eyes smouldering, drilling fiery
black holes into my own. "Be my Daddy and mujhe chodo." After an unusually stressful week at work, it was finally Saturday, and I was determined to do nothing at all but rest. My wife, Suman, and our oldest daughter, Radhika, 15, had left early to go shopping, leaving me and our 11-year-old, Simran, to sleep in. I had risen earlier and showered and shaved, but returned to the bed to just sit up against a pile of pillows and immerse myself in a book -- some mindless piece of fiction I'd bought a few days before, hoping I'd find a chance to get lost in it. And lost in it I was -- forgot the whole world existed -- when I heard a tiny voice at the bedroom door. It was Simran. She had cracked the door open, and about all I could see was her face
peering politely in as she said, " Daddy, I need a favour." "Come in, sweetheart," I said. "What's up?" "Can I borrow your bathtub?" she asked, opening the door and stepping into the room. She wore her usual sleepwear of a t- shirt and panties, and her long, wavy, near- black hair -- so much like her mother's -- was tousled by sleep, adding a kind of wildness to her beautiful, milky- white face.
"Sure, baby, " I said. "But what happened to yours?" "Radhika made a great big mess of the whole bathroom, and I don't feel like cleaning it up," she said. "Let her clean up her own mess, huh?" I said. "Just don't make a mess of mine, ok?" "Ok," she said. "And one more favour?" "What, sweetheart?" "Can I have one of your t- shirts?"
"Out of clothes, too?" I asked. "Yes."

I started to get up and accommodate her - - then remembered I was naked beneath the bed sheet that covered me from the waist down. "Top drawer on the left," I said, nodding toward the dresser. "Thanks, Daddy, " she said, pulling a folded t- shirt from the drawer and disappearing into the bathroom. As the door closed behind her, my mind wandered back involuntarily to the night, earlier in the week, in which she and I had found us curled up together on the couch in front of the TV, unable to sleep. I still had mixed emotions over that moment. Holding my daughter close in my arms, I had developed a hard- on and even come in my shorts, excited against my will by the beautiful child in my lap. Something in me -- call it the effect of centuries of Christian civilization? -- told me I had been wrong, that I should be ashamed
of myself. But other things in me -- my intuitive sense that my physical and emotional instincts, no matter how primal, should be trusted, among other things -- told me that I should remain open to this new sensation involving my daughter.
And in defence of that latter, my own wife -- my daughter's own mother -- had been amazingly unconcerned about the incident when I related it to her! My thoughts on the matter swirled around lazily in my mind for a while, then I turned back to the book I was reading, and to the escape it provided. By the time Simran emerged from the bathroom, so much time had elapsed that I had forgotten she was there. She stood at the foot of the bed, wrapped in a white terry towel. Her hair -- a tangled mess when I saw it last -- was now perfectly coiffed, and she had a sweet smile on her full, pouty lips. "Can we talk, Daddy?" she said. "Sure sweetheart," I said, setting the book aside. "What about?" She didn't speak. Instead, she crawled up on the bed and rolled herself into position in my lap, her back pressed against my chest, her head resting back on my shoulder.

She turned her sweet face up toward mine, smiled a mischievous, girlish smile, and said " Nothing!" I gave her a squeeze, my arms wrapped around her. Her big, expressive dark eyes, just like her mother's, were irresistible. "Mmmm," she purred, still smiling. "That's what I really wanted." I smiled too. And, not really knowing what else to do, I just held her close and rocked her gently from side to side. I loved her, and felt it like a warm glow all over me in that moment. "Daddy?" she said, breaking the silence. "Yes, baby." "Would you kiss my neck again like you did the other night? It felt good." "Yes it did, didn't it?" I said. But I was worried. Where was this going? And at just 11 years old, should this child be initiating this kind of contact with anybody, let alone her own father? My hand shaking a little, I pulled back her thick hair to expose her creamy white neck, and kissed it gently -- from just below her ear, then a little lower, and lower, to her shoulder, and then back up again... freshly bathed, so smooth and nice, it all felt too good... She purred contentedly as my tongue and warm breath moved up and down her neck, and she stretched out her arms and arched her back in response. But with that amount of movement, her towel, only loosely gathered at the front, came undone and fell open, exposing her body down to her waist. If she noticed, she didn't care -- I stopped in my motions at that moment, but she said, "Don't stop, Daddy. You feel so good!"
Her back still to me, I pressed my lips against the back of her neck, across her little shoulders, and partway down her back. With each of my kisses came a sweet " Mmmm" from my baby girl -- and with each of those, God help me, came a new stirring in my Lund, which was starting uncontrollably to harden. Once again, I was terrified, and my heart pounded furiously. But my movements began to pay less and less attention to my fears, and more and more to my daughter's own, innocent desire to be pleasured. No longer frozen by fear in my sitting position, I stretched out,
rolled my baby girl gently off my lap and onto the bed beside me, and threw back the sheet to get it out of the way. Her towel fell free completely, but I could not yet bring myself to look at her nudity. Instead, as she lay there, smiling, on her back,
I laid beside her, propped up on an elbow, gazing deeply into her eyes. "I love you, Daddy," she said, her own dark eyes reflecting my gaze. "I love you too, sweet girl," I answered. My Lund was rock- hard now, my heart beating with excitement. I wanted her, yet was afraid to touch her. "Kiss me Daddy, " she said. "Please?"
"Oh I want to, sweetheart," I said, "How I want to! But I'm not really sure we should." "I see you kiss Mommy all the time, " she said, plaintively. "And you
love me too, don't you? Doesn't that mean you can kiss me too?"

There was no point evaluating logic. She had convinced me -- even without words. The look in her eyes had been enough. I bent toward her, gently touching the tip of my tongue, then my whole mouth, to her full, pouty lips. She was of course no experienced kisser; but her mouth soon learned how to follow the movements of my own, and in a few seconds she was responding eagerly, even darting her own tongue about in response to the motions of mine. It was too much. Still not yet wanting to look, I let my left hand move down her side as we kissed, feeling her smooth skin all the way down to her hips, where I slid my hand beneath them and gently squeezed at my daughter's tiny buttocks. She purred audibly, lifted her hips as I squeezed, and kissed me ever more deeply. She was learning... Still afraid to go further, I drew back, and looked once more into her face. She showed no fear, only contentment. She smiled sweetly into my eyes. "Don't stop touching me, Daddy, " she said. "You feel good." "And you feel good, too, sweetheart," I said. And finally, as I laid
there propped on one arm, I let my gaze wander down the length of her nakedness. My heart rate quickened as I saw that my daughter's breasts were just beginning to develop -- and that a tiny, beautiful wisp of jet-black hair was sprouting at the top of her as yet untouched pubic mound. "You're a beautiful girl," I mumbled on, my
eyes returning to meet hers. She raised up, placed an arm around my neck, and pushed me gently backward, rolling me onto my back -- then rolled her on top of me, stared intensely into my eyes, and plunged her little tongue deep into my mouth with what was quickly becoming her skill at kissing. Suddenly, as we moved together in our embrace, the head of my throbbing Lund accidentally poked at her little pussy, and she reacted with a delighted squeal. "Oooh! Daddy has a rock again!" She rolled off me to sit up and stare at my raging hard-on. She was silent, just looking at what she had never seen before. I was uncomfortable, even embarrassed. It was rock-hard, desperately in need of relief -- but what could I do? My baby girl finally turned her head to look back into my eyes, her expression terribly serious. "Can I touch it, Daddy?" I couldn't speak. After a moment, I just nodded my head and shut my
eyes. I quivered as I felt my daughter's soft little hand pat gently at my nine-inch erection -- her movements were tentative, curious, as though she were afraid of hurting it. I continued to keep my eyes closed as she gradually lost her timidity about it, getting bolder in her exploration of my member. She squeezed it, pulled on it, stroked it, as though trying to figure out what one was supposed to do with it.

I opened my eyes. My daughter's expression was serious as she looked down at her tiny hands wrapped around my long pole, and involuntarily, my hips lurched for a moment into a fucking motion, thrusting my Lund up and down between her hands. I couldn't stand it -- I was going to come just from watching the beauty of her
innocent explorations. So, gently, I slid my Lund out of her hands' embrace, and laid her back down beside me. That sweet smile came back to her face as I stroked her hair and her cheeks with my shaking hand; and again, I was filled with that burning glow of love for her. I kissed her deeply as my left arm reached through her legs to grasp her buttocks, my wrist rubbing gently on her nearly hairless slit.
My tongue moved down to kiss and bathe her neck, then the space between her tiny breasts, then on down to her navel. Her breath came in audible sighs as I finally moved down to the space between her legs. I hesitated, staring at the tiny tuft of
black hair at the top of her slit. My own little daughter's pussy. Simran groaned as my hot breath warmed it, and she raised up, seemingly involuntarily, pressing it toward my mouth. "Kiss me there, Daddy," she pleaded, " Please!" Let me burn in hell, I thought, but I cannot resist this! I extended my tongue and touched its tip to the very top of my daughter's little slit. She gasped and bucked in response, and I dove in, gently at first, then uncontrollably, licking and plunging at it with a tongue gone mad. Simran's hips bucked and lurched in response to each of my
movements, and she whined and whimpered breathlessly, sounding as though she was torn between surprise, shock, and pleasure at this new sensation.

Suddenly, her thighs locked themselves around my head, sweet juices began to flood my face, and her voice because a tiny close- mouthed scream that she tried to repress -- then there was an ear- splitting " Ooohhh!" accompanied by such a squeeze from her little thighs that I thought my head would be crushed. So she remained for a few seconds -- noiseless, her vice- like grip on my head unmoved -- then she dropped limp and motionless flat on the bed. She had apparently experienced her first orgasm; I didn't know enough to know whether 11-year-old girls were supposed to have orgasms or not. I looked at my Lund. It was oozing with pre-cum. I moved up to again look into my daughter's face. Her mouth was open with a look of surprise.
"Oh, Daddy, " she whispered. "Oh, Daddy. What did you do?" I didn't know what to say. "I just did what people do who love each other, " I said, finally. Some moments passed, and Simran's breathing slowed gradually down to its normal pace -- while my Lund, still unrelieved, twitched with the near-pain of its throbbing erection. My daughter finally spoke, in a whisper. "Do you want me to lick you there, too, Daddy?" My heart took another life- threatening leap in response to her innocent offer. "Yes, baby, " I said, my voice hoarse. "I'd like that very much." I laid back, no longer able to hear the warnings rising in the back of my mind. My daughter moved down and gently took my Lund in her hand, and it was all I could do not to come right then as I watched her touch the tip of her tongue to its swollen head. It twitched uncontrollably as she cautiously licked all around it, then down the sides of my shaft, then back up to the head again. Not wanting to speak, I just pressed the head of it up against her lips -- and, as I'd hoped, she parted her lips and let me push it gently in. Only the head and a little more went in, and I pulled slowly out, then back in again, until she realized she could mimic the motion herself.
I was insane with desire as I watched my sweet child bob her head up and down over the end of my lund; it was all I could do not to thrust too hard and choke her; it was when, while she sucked, she looked up to rest her huge, innocent eyes on mine that I lost it.

My Lund exploded. Huge spurts of cum erupted, Simran jerked back her face, startled, cum dripping from her lips, and my lund just kept shooting loads of it everywhere as I fucked crazily at the tiny hands that still gripped my shaft as though for dear life. It seemed a wildly pleasurable eternity before my hips quit thrusting uncontrollably; and when it all came to rest, I still lay flat on my back, my daughter beside me in my arm, her face looking into mine, her hand still loosely clasping my spent Lund. The last thing I remembered before falling asleep was the sweet smile on her lips and her hoarse, whispered, "I love you, Daddy." How much later was it? We were still in that position when we awoke to the sound of Suman, Simran's mother, coming into the room, home from shopping. "What in the hell is this?" Her voice was not particularly angry, certainly not loud -- just firm.
Oh shit, I thought. Oh shit. I had no idea what might happen next. And there was absolutely nothing I could say. Simran rolled sleepily out of my embrace to sit up beside me on my right; I propped myself up on my elbows. For a long time, Suman said nothing. She sat down on the bed at my left, and -- as though absentmindedly -- began fingering my flaccid Lund, looking like she was trying to find something to say. Finally, she looked at Simran and spoke. "Are you ok, baby girl?" "Yes, Mommy, " Simran said. "Did Daddy hurt you?" "Oh, no, Mommy, " she said. "What have you and Daddy been doing?" "Suman -- " I interrupted. "You stay out of this," Suman said, again quietly but firmly. "What," she repeated, " have you and Daddy been doing?" "I don't know, " said Simran. "Just things. Things that feel good."
Suman pondered for a while. She was still fiddling with my Lund, apparently unaware she was doing it; meantime, Simran was watching the motions of her mother's hand.
"Did Daddy kiss you?" Suman said at last. "Yes, Mommy." "And you kissed him back?"
"Yes, Mommy." Suman looked into Simran's crotch. "Did Daddy put anything inside
you there?" she said. "No, Mommy, " said Simran. "I mean yes. He put his tongue there. Am I in trouble, Mommy?" "No, dear," said Suman. "Did it feel good when Daddy put his tongue there?" Simran smiled slightly at the question, and my Lund twitched in my wife's hand. "Yes, Mommy. It felt really good." Suman seemed to remember that her hand was on my Lund. She looked at it. Then she looked back at Simran. "Did you play with this?" "Yes, Mommy." Suman began to pull and stroke at my Lund, and, despite my terror in the situation, it began to harden. "Like this?" Suman went on.
"Yes, Mommy." "Did you do anything else with it?" "Suman, please!" I said. Simran looked at me inquisitively -- did she not understand why I was upset? -- then nswered her mother. "Yes, Mommy. I licked it, too." "Show me," said Suman.
"Oh shit!" I said. "Come on!" Simran looked at me again. God help me, I was hard gain; and Suman, unconsciously squeezing almost painfully on my lund, fell silent -- just staring deeply into her daughter's eyes, her full lips parted, her breath oming unevenly. I wondered seriously whether she was getting off on this in some way... inally she spoke, her voice trembling. "Sweetheart, " she said, "why don't you let me and Daddy be alone for a while now, ok?" Simran -- rather naturally, I thought -- seemed confused by her mother's behaviour. What did Mommy want? Was she angry? Was he not angry? Our daughter got off the bed and started for the door. "Simran," Suman said. Simran stopped and turned back to face her mother. "Don't you want to put on our clothes first?" Wordlessly, Simran went into the bathroom for a moment, then merged wearing the t-shirt she'd borrowed from me earlier, and went again to the door to leave -- but stopped and turned before leaving. "I love you, Daddy," she aid, her eyes big and deep with emotion. "I love you too, sweetheart," I said, ttempting a smile. Simran left the room, and Suman rose from the bed to stand at the foot of it. There, she removed her shoes, jeans, and panties. Then she stepped ackward to lean against the dresser, her legs spread, her hand massaging her thick, lack bush. She HAD been getting off with the whole scene... "You," she said, looking at me with something close to anger, but not seemingly quite anger -- and still iddling herself as she spoke. "You are a miserable, lund- sucking child molester." er voice trembled, and her hips shook, with the last two words. I didn't dare to say anything. She went on. "And you..." She trembled still further, now seemingly near tears. "And you're going to fuck our baby girl and you're going to forget I exist, nd you'll start fucking our other baby, and you, you..." "Stop it, Suman, " I said, " you're losing it. I love you. What happened with Simran was an accident. obody planned it. I'll always love you, and you know it." Suman continued sobbing -- yet continued digging at her pussy all the while, gyrating her hips, apparently omehow getting off in some weird way with this whole scenario. She hastily pulled ff her sweater, shook out her thick, black hair, and removed her bra, letting her beautiful, pendulous breasts hang free. A couple minutes more of just standing here, masturbating and crying at once -- then she got on the bed, straddled me, and owered
herself over my still-throbbing lund. "Please mujhe chodo!" she cried. "Please fuck our big girl! She wants Daddy too!" With that, she used a hand to press the head of my lund against her dripping wet cunt lips, then slid herself down on it. In minutes, she was riding it like a demented fiend, her wild black hair and huge breasts flying in all directions. I was approaching orgasm as I turned my head to the right just in time to see that Simran had silently reappeared at the door. Her
eyes were wide open, and her hand covered her mouth, as she watched what she hadn't expected to see. Suman, unaware, rode hard, still sobbing, but noisily approaching
orgasm herself; Simran stood motionless, apparently too captivated to move, her hand still covering her mouth; and I came. Bucking upward, hard against my wife's downward thrusts, I stared, entranced, into Simran's wide-eyed face as I shot load after load into her screaming mother's womb.

As it all finally came to rest, Suman collapsed on top of me, but I continued to look at Simran. We stared wordlessly into each other's eyes for what seemed an eternity before, at last, Simran turned -- seemingly reluctantly -- and left.
The look in her eyes and the uncommon desire -- call it lust, I suppose? lust for my own daughter? -- that I continued to feel for her, would remain in the back of my mind, and would trouble me deeply, for days to come... My wife Suman lay sound asleep beside me while I -- yet again -- lay wide awake, unable to sleep. And I wished that it had been the usual matters of work that kept me awake; but now, and for the last few days, it had instead been my relationship with our 11-year-old
daughter, Simran, that kept me awake at nights. Over the past week, we had had two instances -- both accidental, never planned -- of sexual contact. The first had led me to orgasm; the second had led us both to orgasm. With that second occasion, I had crossed over into illegal territory: I had had oral sex, both giving and receiving, ith my 11-year-old daughter. I was terrified. And making it still more complicated, my wife was fully aware of the situation -- indeed, she had caught our daughter and myself sleeping, fully naked, in each other's arms the previous weekend. Her freaction had been completely inscrutable: I still had no idea whether she was turned on by the whole idea, repulsed by it, or wholly undecided. I had seen evidence of all three possibilities. But the fundamental truth was that I had fallen in love with my youngest daughter. And I felt the sentiment was mutual. At every
possible moment since the last time we'd had sex, Simran and I took any opportunity we could to touch, to fondle, to tease, to kiss -- all the while feeling we were hiding an illicit relationship. I was in love with my wife. But I was in love with my daughter, too, in a relationship that was following the normal course of a new
love. Two relationships going on in the same house. At all levels -- morally, logistically, sexually, you name it -- it was terrifying. On this night, the frustration was nearly unbearable. It had been days since Simran and I had "been together" in the way that we wanted to be, and my libido was ablaze with desire for my daughter. As I lay looking at my beautiful wife, sleeping deeply and peacefully beside me, my lund raged with a hard-on brought about by my dreams of her baby girl.
On both of our previous occasions, Simran had come to me, and things had unfolded in a natural, practically accidental way. I had not yet consciously and willingly initiated sex with my daughter. Nor had I yet completely consummated the relationship -- she had not yet had me inside her.
Around and around it all went in my head until, finally, I could lie still no longer. Naked and wearing a rock-hard, nine-inch erection, I rose quietly from the bed and left the room. It had to happen tonight. I could no longer contain it. The walk down the hallway to my daughter's bedroom seemed like a hundred miles...
Just like her mother, Simran lay asleep on her back, naked atop her bed, her sweet, white face surrounded by her near-black tangle of long, thick hair. Pale light from the window illuminated her tiny, budding breasts as her chest rose and fell lightly with her breathing, and the slight wisp of black hair at the top of her pubic mound was vividly pronounced against the silky whiteness of her skin. As gently as I could, I laid down beside her and watched as her eyes eventually flickered open to find me there. Rather than the surprise or initial fear I expected, she reacted only by quietly turning her head to look into my eyes, and by smiling a sweet, irresistible smile. "Daddy," she whispered. "I'm so glad you're here." She raised up her head just high enough to touch her lips to mine and kiss me, teasing my tongue with her own -- then my lust took over completely. "I want you, sweet girl," I whispered hoarsely as I laid fully on top of her and delved my tongue deep into her mouth while my hips, already moving with an animal rhythm, humped uncontrollably against her, the base of my raging lund grinding hard into her pubic region.

Simran groaned luxuriously, spreading her little legs, and clasping her arms around my neck, pulling my kisses deeper and deeper into her mouth before, after a moment, pulling her head free and whispering, "I want you too, Daddy! I want you inside me!"
This was the moment of which I had been the most terrified -- and the moment for which I felt I'd been waiting a lifetime. Moreover, Simran had apparently been lying here night after night as obsessed with the thought as I had been. Tonight, it seemed, we were both in no mood to waste time. We were ready. "It's going to hurt like hell, sweetheart," I said quietly. "You know that, don't you?" "Yes, Daddy, " she said. "But I don't care. It has to happen sometime!" I groaned with desire, wrapping my arms around her and squeezing her whole body close to mine. I was in love with her, in love with the confident resolve with which she was determined to have from me what she wanted. Caressing her neck with my kisses, I reached down to touch her tiny pussy. With a single finger, I found she was already damp; I slid my
finger gently in -- and her hips bucked madly upward as she tried to suppress the shaky "Ohhh..." that came from her lips. "That feels so good, Daddy," she whispered, panting, as I slowly made love to her with my finger. "It doesn't hurt?" I said, looking into her eyes for signs of pain or doubt or second thoughts. "No, Daddy. It just feels good. Don't stop!" With a care and slowness that was incredibly difficult with the white heat that burned in my groin, I gently added a second finger. Simran caught her breath, stopped breathing for a moment, then for the first time began bucking around a bit, now humping back against my fingers, eagerly moving herself farther and farther down on them. She was so tight that I was afraid of hurting her. But she was unbelievably wet, and her whole body had begun moving rhythmically
with her hips as she responded pleasurably to my manual stimulation. She sighed, she kissed me, she groaned, squirmed, and sighed some more as she humped my fingers with greater and greater enthusiasm, seemingly lost in this new pleasure. At last, she pulled herself away from my hand and looked me right in the eye, one sweet white
arm wrapped around my neck. "I'm ready, Daddy," she whispered. "I want it now, ok?"
I moved my face down to trace the outline of her lips with the tip of my tongue. I kept my mouth close to hers as I moved; I wanted to feel -- not just hear -- whatever sound might come from her lips... Carefully, I rubbed the throbbing head of my lund around in the wetness of her crotch, letting it find the point of entry. As I rested it against her virgin opening, my daughter sighed, and tried to wiggle herself down against me. Ever so gently, making sure it was covered in her juices, I pressed the head of my lund on in -- just the head -- and moved it gently in and out as she adjusted to its size. "Oh Daddy," she whispered, nearly whimpering, "Oh daddy, don't stop. Keep going. I'm ready for more. Don't stop!" My heart pounding, partly with passion, partly in terror at the fact that I was actually fucking my 11-year- old daughter for the first time, I let a bit more of my lund penetrate her -- then scared the hell out of myself when I hit, and tore accidentally past, a tough
barrier. Simran reacted with a sharp " Oh!" and became totally still for a moment. I'd broken her hymen. My lund lay in a grip I'd never experienced before -- it was so tight as to be painful -- and I whispered, "Are you ok, sweet girl?" Tears welled up in my daughter's eyes as I looked into her face, but her smile was sweet and brave. "Don't stop, Daddy," she said. "We're making love now. Don't stop." Moving with a caution that pained my eager, raging lund, I slid slightly out, then back in, then back out, then in a little deeper -- deeper with each slow, successive stroke -- until, by now, nearly half my lund was buried in my daughter's sweet pussy. Her mouth was open, she breathed heavily through it, and her eyes were wide. But she gradually began rising upward to meet my slow thrusts, seemingly anxious to take more and more as she found herself able. Finally, my whole length was buried in her, and I stopped in just that position, nearly in pain with the tightness of it. "Simran, sweetheart," I whispered, my lips close to hers. "I love you. Are you ok?" "I'm ok Daddy, " she whispered back, her little hands stroking my hair as she spoke. "Make love to me, Daddy. Let's just make love." Slowly, but feeling more confident now that the worst part was over, I began fucking my daughter, sliding in and out while her feet gripped the backs of my thighs, and her pelvis -- ever more
aggressively -- began rising and humping to match my rhythm. The room swirled around in my eyes as we moved; I looked down to watch my lund plunging in and out of this sweet, tight pussy; I looked up to watch my daughter's face -- now almost smiling - -as her eyes rolled upward and her head tossed from side to side, now and then uttering a surprised " Oh!" or a luxurious " Mmmm..." She was now fucking me as aggressively as I was fucking her; no longer was I tentatively touching my virgin daughter. We were fucking, and fucking hard. She bucked and moaned, she gripped me
with her legs wrapped around my hips, she squeezed me with her arms wrapped tightly around my neck. "It's happening, Daddy," she suddenly whispered, without in the
least interrupting her rhythm. "It's happening again..." My brain was on fire, only half hearing her as she spoke; my mind had moved completely down to my lund, where I was plunging away madly at my daughter, trying hard to hold back the irresistible urge to come. "What, sweetheart?" I croaked, kissing and licking her neck as we
banged harder and harder together. "The feeling, " she whimpered. "That feeling. It's coming back... it's coming back..." Her voice trailed off into a groan, and I
realized my baby girl was about to come. "Make love to me, sweetheart," I whispered breathlessly. "Make love to me... let it come..." She humped at me harder and faster, her breath now coming noisily in whimpers and groans - - then suddenly she stopped on the up thrust and screamed, pressing her cunt all the way up at me while some muscle inside her squeezed me so hard I thought I would break. The moment seemed to last an eternity -- she was dead still, wrapped tightly around me, with that twitching, internal muscle of hers threatening to choke the life out of my lund -- then she let go and fell limply back to the bed, leaving my lund to twitch wildly about in the air. Her mouth and her eyes were wide open, and she looked at me with a look of deep and utter amazement. "Daddy..." she whispered. I could hold back no longer. Once I again got safely inside without hurting her, I began stroking for home. She kept whispering, "Daddy, Daddy," and I kept fucking her harder and harder until finally I had to explode. Forgetting her size at eleven years old, I slammed hard into her with each burning shot of thick cum that forced itself up from my
loins, and forgot where I was as the sound of my groans filled the room. It seemed forever before the animal thrusts of my pelvis finally died out and I came to rest, exhausted and sweaty, on top of my daughter. "I love you, Daddy," she whispered, her big Brown eyes staring up deeply and seriously into mine. "I love you so much."
After a long while of lying there entangled together, I finally slid my spent lund out of her and rolled over to lie beside her. She stroked my face with her tiny hand, and I felt I'd died and gone to heaven. "I love you too, sweet girl," I whispered, truly meaning it as I gazed into her beautiful face. The smile she returned was enough to melt my heart. I wanted to sleep there, but knew I dared not. "You know I can't stay, don't you?" I said. "I know," said my daughter, her smile saddening a bit. "Mommy wouldn't like it." While I was glad to see her consideration for her mother, it saddened me to see that she was evidently conscious of what could become a rivalry. And it frightened me to think that I myself could
become the object of a rivalry between my own wife and my own daughter. I kissed Simran one last time, long and deep, then whispered "Good night" to her as I rose to leave the room. "Good night, Daddy," she said, looking intently into my eyes,
placing me, rather than herself, in the position of having to break the gaze and turn to leave. I stepped out of her room only to nearly trip and fall -- for there
was Suman, seated on the floor in the hallway, just outside the door. How long had she been there? How much had she seen? "Oh, God," I groaned, pulling Simran's door nearly closed and standing there for what seemed forever before sitting down opposite my wife. This was an impossible situation. And growing worse. "There's blood on your lund, you rapist," she said, showing no emotion whatsoever in her voice. Like me, she had not bothered to dress before leaving our bed; we sat there naked together in the dark. "Mommy?" Simran suddenly appeared in the hallway, having obviously been startled by her mother's voice so near and so unexpectedly. "And I'm the one," Suman went on, as though ignoring Simran's presence, "who will have to change her sheets tomorrow. Think about that, you bastard." "I'll do it, " Simran said, at this moment in which I wished she had remained silent. "I'll change my own sheets." "Come sit down, " I said to our daughter, who stood looking at her mother and myself with an air of innocent confusion. "Come sit beside me." Simran took her place on the floor with us. I wrapped an arm around her, and the three of us sat there, regarding each other silently in the darkness. "Simran," Suman finally said after an eternity of silence. "Yes, Mommy, " Simran said. "Do you love your Daddy?"
"Yes, Mommy. Very much." Simran squeezed my thigh as she smoke, and I saw a flash of something -- I could not tell what -- cross my wife's dark, beautiful, fiery eyes.
"Well," said Suman, "So do I. You know that, don't you?" "Yes, Mommy." After another very long pause, Suman spoke again. Her voice was a little distant or remote, as though she were thinking out her thoughts even as she attempted to express them.
"And I wonder where Radhika fits in with all of this, " she said. Radhika, our 15-year- old, lay sleeping in her bedroom down the hall, apparently still unaware of any of this. "How do you mean?" I said. "I don't mean, " Suman said quietly. "Just trying to think."

Both physically and emotionally exhausted, I sat essentially in a stupor, my arm around our daughter, my eyes on my wife's naked, unspeakable beauty, and my mind blank. I was beyond thinking. "Simran," Suman said at last. "Yes, Mommy." "We all need to go back to bed. Come sleep with your Daddy and me. We mustn't forget that we all love each other. You and Daddy don't need to hide from me anymore..."
It was early Saturday evening, and my 11-year-old daughter, Simran, and I sat together on a couch in the den, waiting for Suman, her mother, to finish dressing.
Suman and Simran were on their way to some kind of mother- daughter dinner at the church, and I and our other daughter, Radhika, 15, were to be left at home to fend for ourselves for the evening. The situation between myself, Simran, and Suman continued to be awkward. Even though my wife seemed to be somewhat accepting of --
or maybe just reluctantly resigned to -- the sexual relationship between myself and our youngest daughter, there were still little hints of tension. And I was still quite uncomfortable, myself, about how to manage these two, separate, loving relationships under the same roof. Meantime, as we waited on the couch, Simran -- all dressed up in a dark green dress, and even heels -- sat contentedly beside me, my arm around her shoulders, my hand stroking her hair, until her mother at last appeared. She, too, was dressed to kill, in a shortish black skirt, black stockings and heels, and a clingy, wine coloured silk blouse. Simran and I rose from the couch; and I blushed as I realized that the beginnings of an erection were obvious beneath my jeans. "Like rabbits, you two," said Suman, not smiling. "Can't keep your
hands off each other." Despite her words, she moved close to me and pressed her body against mine -- reaching down to squeeze at my hard- on before touching her lips lightly to mine, being careful of her lipstick. The movement seemed obviously intended for our daughter's benefit, a sign that my wife still claimed ownership.
Standing back, I looked at both of them, not really knowing what to say. They were amazingly alike, the two of them. Long, thick, curly, near-black hair, big, beautiful, electric Brown eyes, and full sensuous lips. In a way, it was as though I lived with just one woman as she was at the age of 34 and at the age of 11 -- both
incarnations at once -- and I was madly in love with both of them! "So what are you and Radhika doing for dinner?" Suman said. "We'll probably go eat out someplace and maybe see a movie," I replied. "I'm not much in the mood to do leftovers." "Well," Suman said, " just don't forget to drop those papers by Geeta's place, ok?" Geeta was Geetanjli, Suman's older sister, who lived across town. Their parents were in the process of re- doing their will, and some papers sent to Suman for this purpose needed now to move on to her sister. "I'll do it, " I said. "We should be back before midnight, " she said, turning to leave. Simran followed, but turned just before leaving the room. "I love you, Daddy," she said, her bright eyes smiling into mine. "Love you too, sweetheart." As I heard the front door close, I went looking for Radhika. She had always been the quieter, more independent of our two children. She was no less beautiful than her mother and sister, but seemed more content than most children to spend time by herself -- enjoying time spent with the rest of us, but in no way dependant on it. I found her curled up in a chair in her bedroom, reading a book, dressed frumpily in jeans and a t-shirt. Her long, Brown hair, a
little lighter and straighter than her sister's, nearly hid her face until she looked up at me as I entered the room. "So," I said, "have you decided where we're going tonight?" "Hmm," she said, looking thoughtful. "I kind of forgot to think
about it at all. Let me think..." I grinned as I watched the wheels turn in her head until, at last, she spoke again. "Yes," she said, "I have it. You're going out for a while. Make it a couple of hours. And when you come back, dinner will be ready. I'm
cooking tonight." "Well," I said, smiling, " this'll be a first. I don't think you've ever cooked for me before. Should I trust this?" She responded with a rather intriguing smile, her dark eyes alive with something indescribable. "It'll be the best dinner you ever had." At fifteen, she was quite the little grown-up, and I was proud of her sense of independence and self-confidence. What could I do but
trust her?

"Ok," I said. "I'm headed to your Masi Geeta's for a while. Call me there if you need me, and I'll be back in a couple of hours." "Take your time, " she said, still smiling, and I left. Things were most odd at Geetanjli's. I had always made a point of spending as little time around her as possible -- for the simple reason that I didn't trust myself around her. Just a year older than Suman, she looked very much like her sister: the same piercing, Brown eyes, the same luxurious raven hair, the
same smooth, olive skin. But unlike Suman, who -- though by no means overweight -- was voluptuous in her build and movement, Geetanjli was thinner, straighter, with smaller breasts and a more athletic build and carriage. To look at her was, to me, the tantalizing experience of looking at what you might call a different " version"
of my own wife. She seemed to be wearing only a t- shirt, barely long enough to cover her private parts, when she answered the door. Her hair damp, she had evidently just left the shower. I handed her the envelope as she let me in; she tossed it on the coffee table, motioned me toward a big, leather chair, and sat down on the couch across from me, her legs curled up beneath her. She seemed a little nervous -- perhaps it was her state of undress? - - at first, but relaxed a bit as conversation ensued. I hadn't seen her in several weeks; we made small talk about my " dinner plans" later in the evening, about the church dinner Simran and Suman were attending, and about how Geeta's ex had finally stopped causing problems and begun paying his child support dependably. Then she turned nervous again as a male voice issued from farther
back in the apartment.
"Mom!" It was Jitendra, her 16- year-old son and only child.
"Yes, baby, " she shouted back.
Jitendra didn't respond. Instead, he just appeared in the entrance
to the living room -- buck naked, holding a towel, his hair still
wet, and carrying a monstrous erection.
"Oh shit!" he said, not realizing until just this moment that his
mother had company. As quickly as he had appeared, he disappeared
back down the hallway.
"What the hell was that?" I said, a little taken aback.
"Just a kid with a hard-on," said Geetanjli, very nervously
attempting a giggle. "Surely you used to get them yourself?"
I grinned at her, concealing my real thoughts. What the hell was
going on here? Sure, I had hard-ons at sixteen. But I never followed
one, naked, into the same room with my mother! And Geetanjli knew, I
could tell from the shakiness in her voice, that I knew something
was up.
As I rose to leave, a little later, she stopped me at the door. She
took my hand and looked deeply into my eyes, her expression
somewhere between inquisitive and desperate.
"Don't think wrong things about what you saw, alright? And for God's
sake don't say anything to Suman."
I pulled her toward me, kissed her on the cheek, and said, "Don't
worry. It's none of my business anyway, now is it?" I smiled -- a
real smile, since I was terribly fond of Geeta regardless of what I
might not have known about her -- and left.
As though, I thought to myself as I started the car, I didn't have a
few secrets of my own...
I arrived home to find a yellow post- it note on the front
door. "Enter quietly. --R.," it said. What the hell did that mean? I
wondered. I don't typically enter the house shouting!
Charmed by the girlish handwriting, and wondering what my sweet
Radhika was up to, I just smiled, opened the door quietly and let
myself in, and closed the door as quietly as I could behind me.
And there, on the mirror in the foyer, was another yellow square. It
said: "Don't look for me. I'm busy preparing your evening. Go take a
shower and get dressed for dinner. --R." Hmm... I'd never played
follow-the-notes with anyone before. I humoured her, and headed for
the bedroom and the bath, where I dutifully got in the shower.
When I emerged, I found yet another post-it note -- this time on the
mirror over my dresser. "The mood for the evening is formal! Please
dress accordingly. --R."
I wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or to find humour in all this. I
chose to relax and smile while putting on a white cotton dress
shirt, dark dress slacks, and a tie. What was this child up to?
Whatever it was, I realized I must be taking it more seriously than
I realized when I found myself back in the bathroom, inspecting
myself in the mirror to make sure I looked good enough for the
occasion!
And there was yet another note -- this time on a full piece of paper
slipped under the door -- when I returned to the bedroom. "Dinner is
served in the dining room. Please don't let it get cold. --R."
The dining room was typically reserved for special occasions just
three or four times a year. The rest of the time, if the family
managed to dine together at all, we did so in the kitchen. A tie?
The dining room? Was she digging out the good china as well? I just
shook my head and headed for the dining room.
And my heart jumped into my throat when I got there. There was my 15-
year-old, looking anything other than fifteen. Her long Brown hair
was tied at the back and wrapped attractively into a kind of bun at
the base of her neck. She wore a short, black, sleeveless shift-like
dress, black stockings, black heels, and dark, red lipstick. The
contrasts between her milky white skin and her dark hair and dress,
between her youth and her un-childlike appearance at this moment --
all of it took me by utter surprise as I entered the room. She
looked too beautiful.
Only when I recovered from my own momentary daze did I realize that
she, too, was a little nervous. She stood beside the table; the room
was lit only by the candles she'd arranged on it; and her voice
shook just a little as she said, so sweetly, "You look very nice,
Daddy."
That totally disarmed me -- I looked nice! -- while I stood there
transformed by a kind of beauty I'd never seen in her before. I took
her hands in mine and looked into her eyes -- and found myself
unable to say anything.
"Have a seat, Daddy," she said at last, breaking the awkward
silence.
Dinner was something of a blur -- aided, I'm sure, by the wine that
my daughter had poured for me. The food was excellent; I had no
idea, before then, that Radhika had taken up cooking. But it was my
daughter herself who was the cause of the rising fever on my brain.
Beautiful as she was, there in front of me, and elegant as were her
movements -- so suddenly adult did she seem in that moment -- I felt
as though I were out on a date with someone whom I desperately
wanted to please and impress.
"Daddy," she said at one point, her Brown eyes peering deeply into
mine, "you have such a dreamy expression on your face! What are you
thinking about?"
"Just -- just how beautiful you look tonight." I felt a little
stupid, a full-grown adult stumbling over his tongue, made
speechless by a mere 15-year-old.
"You seem nervous," she said, with the beginnings of a smile. She
rose from her chair and moved to my side, taking the bottle of wine
and refilling my glass. My heart rate sped up when she managed, in
this movement, to press her body against my arm; her warmth, her
closeness, the scent of her perfume, all combined to make me put my
arm around her waist and pull her even closer.
She didn't resist. Instead, she bent slightly over to put her arms
around my neck and to sigh, while my hand wandered up and down her
back, straying down to touch -- ever so lightly in my nervousness --
her sweet, round bottom through the tight black fabric of her dress.
Then, realizing what I was doing, I dropped my arm to my side and
took a deep breath, trying to maintain control of myself. I couldn't
do this. Things were already too far out of hand in this household!
"You seem afraid to touch me, Daddy," Radhika said, letting go of my
neck and resuming her full height beside me, rubbing my shoulder
with her hand. She again pressed herself close to me - - Dear God,
did she know what she was doing? -- and said, "I'm not going to
break, you know."
"I know," I said, rising from my chair, feeling the need to break
free of her closeness. "It's just that..." I couldn't find words.
"I think I know, " Radhika said, taking my hands as we stood facing
each other. "I think -- " she began, now seemingly herself having
difficulty with words -- "I think that maybe you have some feelings
that you're not telling me?"
The blood, warmed by the wine, pounded in my head as I looked at my
daughter -- her beautiful face, so expressive in this moment; the
creamy whiteness of her neck; the top of the sweet crevice between
her breasts, just visible thanks to the low curve of her dress --
and I stood motionless, still paralyzed with fear.
"Daddy," she said, pulling me closer and placing my hands on her
shoulders, " please touch me. Stop being afraid. Just please touch
me."
I took her face in my hands; her eyes looked up deeply into mine,
and her lips parted slightly; her hands, still on mine as I held her
face, trembled.
"What are we doing?" I whispered.
"We're making love," she whispered back. "Kiss me, Daddy. I want
you."
The child was seducing me, and I could no longer resist. I dropped
my hands from her face and grabbed her tightly around the waist,
pressing my lips to hers, and my groin into her belly. She moaned
luxuriously as I delved my tongue into her mouth, and my lund began
already to harden as I felt my daughter -- where had she learned
this? -- meld herself closer and closer to me and return my kiss
with a passion equal to my own.
"Where does this come from, sweetheart?" I said, pulling back a
little, still scared out of my wits. "This is scaring the hell out
of me! I didn't know you had this in you!"
"Daddy," she said, her voice plaintive, even a little impatient. "It
was going to happen sometime. You know that. And you've wanted it.
You just didn't know until now that I've wanted it too. Please,
Daddy, just make love to me!"
This child, at fifteen, was already a woman, and irresistible. And
with those words of hers -- so adult, so perceptive -- my sense of
conscience and caution died on the spot and I let go.
I turned her around, her back to me, and held her close with an arm
around her waist as I caressed her smooth, white neck with my hand,
then let my hand wander down to her breasts. My breath was uneven
with excitement as I explored them through her dress -- already the
size of apples, they were going to be her mother's large breasts in
time. And dear God, I felt her nipples growing erect through the
fabric.
"Good, Daddy, " she whispered. "It feels good... don't stop." I took
my arm from her waist and placed one hand on each of her breasts,
fondling them -- no, lewdly groping them! -- while her beautiful
bottom pressed backward against what was now my complete erection.
In that position, I found myself involuntarily dry- fucking her Gand
until, suddenly, she wrestled free and turned around to face me.
She moved me backward to the table and reached up to loosen and
remove my tie. My lund strained against my pants as she said, " Unzip
me, Daddy."
Reaching around her neck and through her hair, I found the zipper of
her dress and lowered it, never removing my eyes from the open-
lipped look of nearly unnatural -- animal -- passion on my
daughter's face. She was without doubt her mother's daughter.
She wriggled around to let the dress fall down to her waist, and
loosened her hair to let it fall free, a long black cascade around
her face, across her white shoulders, and between her breasts. Her
sweet, pink nipples were fully erect, and she just stood there,
looking expressively into my eyes.
"I think you're still afraid of me, " she whispered, with a little
smile.
She reached forward to begin unbuttoning my shirt as I caressed her
face with my hand. My mind wandered in this moment; this was
happening in such a surreal way, and in a way so different from what
had happened with my younger daughter. Radhika, almost without
asking, was just taking what she wanted -- and I was offering no
resistance!
My mind snapped suddenly back to alertness when I realized she had
unbuckled my belt and was loosening my fly. In an instant, my lund
had sprung free and stood at attention, obscenely huge and erect, in
front of my daughter.
Cautiously, as though afraid of breaking it, she took it in both her
hands, and began feeling it, fondling it, curiously. Then, seeming
sufficiently familiar with it, her eyes moved away from it to look
up into my face. As I half-sat, half- leaned against the table, she
looked wordlessly into my eyes as she began stroking my lund --
slowly, luxuriously jacking me off.
"Hey bhagwaan, stop it!" I said, after a few moments. "I can't stand
it!" I tore off my shirt and struggled out of my shoes and pants --
and pulled my daughter's dress, only barely clinging to her anyway,
the rest of the way down -- to find that her stockings were thigh-
highs and she wore no panties. My lund twitched visibly as I stood
staring stupidly at her nakedness.
"Do you like it, Daddy?" she said, smiling. "I did it just for you."
I grabbed her, nearly violently, and pressed her whole body tightly
against my own, my rock-hard lund grinding into her belly. My arm
around her waist, I grabbed her hair with my other hand and pulled
her lips to mine, burying my tongue in her mouth, and nearly coming
with the excitement of how her tongue fought back, dancing lewdly
with my own in her mouth.
This child -- so different from her sister, and no matter how
seemingly quiet and mature -- was innately a slut, a nymphomaniac,
like her mother! No wonder, I now understood, no wonder I felt so
different in taking this one of my daughters from how I felt in
taking the other!
"Daddy," Radhika said suddenly, pulling away from our kiss. I looked
into her face to find a very serious look in her eyes. "I want this
to happen in your bed."
I had no words. I simply swept her up into my arms, carried her to
the bed I shared with her mother, and all but threw her on it.
Flipping on a lamp, I stood beside the bed, my lund still standing
at attention, and stared at my daughter, who lay propped up on her
elbows and staring back.
Her little breasts rose and fell with her heavy breathing as I
devoured her slowly with my eyes. The naturally full, black bush at
the top of her whore- like stockings was, unlike her mother's, neatly
trimmed and thinned, easily exposing her slit; and just a hint of
her inner lips protruded, glistening with moisture in the dim light
of the lamp.
"Make love to me, Daddy," she said, the silence finally
broken. "Please. "Make love to me."
As soon as I moved onto the bed, Radhika seemed to take over
completely. She rolled me onto my back, rolled herself on top of me,
and began kissing me with a passion the likes of which I had no idea
could exist in a 15- year-old.
With both my hands, I grabbed the sweet cheeks of her Gand and
squeezed hard as the moist opening between her thighs teased the
throbbing head of my lund. She moved almost compulsively, seemingly
unable to be still. It was as though she was at last devouring
something she'd craved for a long, long time.
Suddenly, she jumped up, and moved forward to stand on her knees,
straddling my face. Her sweet pussy was just inches from my nose,
and I looked past it, up her smooth belly, past her quivering
breasts, and into her face.
"Can I do this, Daddy?" she said, as though she needed permission.
Where had she learned all this? Had she been reading it in books?
Rather than speak, I took hold of her thighs and gently pulled her
15-year-old womanhood down onto my face. My tongue moved up and down
her little slit, teasing her, before finally plunging in, making her
whole body buck and jerk as I began fucking her with my tongue. Why
did I feel no need to be gentle with this child?
Unable to remain upright on her knees, she fell forward to support
herself with her hands, her pussy grinding hard into my face, her
breath coming in increasingly noisy gasps.
Then she moved yet again, her crotch still glued to my mouth, but
her head now facing the other way. Supporting herself with one hand
on my thigh, she used her other to take my lund and begin stroking
it in earnest -- masturbating me while my tongue plunged away at her
wetness.
I rolled us both over on our sides and rather forcibly pressed her
head down toward my lund, where she took the hint and -- with no
hesitation at all -- eagerly took it into her mouth and began
sucking it with abandon, all the while making muffled groans around
it in response to the action of my tongue.
Suddenly, she let go of my lund and seemed to stiffen; her thighs,
wrapped around my head, tightened horribly and, as I pressed harder
into her little clitoris, drawing rough circles around it with my
tongue, she began screaming at the top of her lungs. She was coming
so hard she was trying to crawl away from it; and I just hung onto
her hips and pressed her harder into my face, not letting her get
away until, at last, the screams subsided and she grew limp and lay
still.
"Are you alright, sweetheart?" I whispered, my voice hoarse with the
excitement of my still unrelieved lund.
She didn't respond. Instead, she rose up slowly, rolled me back onto
my back, and straddled my thighs, facing me, and taking my aching
lund into her hands. It looked huge up against her smooth, white
belly as she stroked it slowly, staring into my eyes.
"I've never done this before, " she said quietly. "Is it going to
hurt?"
"Probably," I said, my hips beginning to move in response to her
stroking, my lund wanting to explode and trying hard not to.
"I want to do it this way," she said, raising herself up and placing
the head of my lund up against her wet opening.
"Please be careful," I said. "Please don't hurt yourself."
The sensation, for me, was somewhere between excruciating and
exquisite as I watched my daughter trying ever so slowly to slide
herself down onto my nine-inch lund, and watched the expressions on
her face while she did so -- wide-eyed pain for a moment, open-
mouthed pleasure the next...
Once the head was fully in, she stopped there, seeming relieved that
she'd gotten that far, then smiling at me as she rode gently up and
down on just the head of it. Now comfortable with this much, she
attempted more. A frown wrinkled her forehead as she eased on down
another half-inch, then another, until she was about half- way. From
there, then, she rode slowly up and down, her own moisture and
gradual relaxation making this much comfortable too.
"It's so big, " she whispered, looking at it rather than me, still
riding it slowly, carefully.
"It feels good, sweetheart," I said, enjoying the calm look on my
daughter's face, while at the same time working hard to contain my
impatient lund, which was dying to start moving.
Finally, she decided to take the rest of it. Up and down, and down
farther each time, and interrupted now and then with a pained little
groan, Radhika at last reached bottom - - and let go a long,
sighed, " Mmmm" when she got there.
She sat there, quite still, for a long moment.
"I felt that, " she said, smiling, when my lund twitched
involuntarily inside her.
Then she raised up -- all the way up -- and slid all the way back
down again. And did it one more time. Then she took me a little by
surprise by what she said.
"I have you now, " she said.
"Hm?" I said, by now gritting my teeth to keep from coming just from
the tightness of her 15-year-old pussy.
"I have you now, Daddy," she said again. "Now you're mine." And with
that, and with no warning, she started riding my lund like there was
no tomorrow. Her dark eyes flashed wild madness as she humped up and
down, grunting noisily -- " shamelessly" was the word that came to my
mind -- and at last my own hips let go and began slamming back into
her downward thrusts.
Her breasts jiggled up and down as she rode harder and faster; I
watched my lund -- covered, to my alarm, with blood -- plunge in and
out as she became gradually noisier; and my brain became fevered as
her features merged, in my mind, with those of her mother, and she
began shouting now, in words I didn't expect, "Mujhe chodo, Daddy!
Mujhe chodo!"
No longer content to lie back, I rose up to stand on my knees as she
continued to mujhe chodo without interruption, her arms wrapped
around my neck, her pussy impaled on my lund -- then I let her fall
to the bed on her back, with me, now, doing the fucking.
Her eyes grew wilder, and her screams louder; I pounded her harder
and harder as she bucked and squirmed and humped hungrily around on
my lund; the room went around in circles as I lost track of where I
was or who I was fucking; and finally my lund blew up, shooting
gallons of cum deep inside my daughter while she screamed sharply in
response to each of my orgasmic thrusts.
But just as I started to come to rest, she screamed at the top of
her lungs, a look of wide-eyed anger in her face: " Don't stop! For
God's sake don't stop! Mujhe chodo, God damn it!"
With what little I had left in me, I started moving again while my
daughter wrapped her legs around my waist and nearly squeezed me to
death, approaching another orgasm. With no rhythm left, I just tore
into her, thrusting as hard as I could, when I could, until at last
she let loose with a piercing scream that ended only an eternity
later when she had simply run out of breath and she fell, loosely
and limply, back to the bed, quiet at last.
The bed was covered in blood, Radhika's whole pubic area was covered
in blood, and so was mine. She lay still, her eyes closed, her mouth
open, only her chest moving as she breathed heavily. I took her head
in my arm, and held it close to my chest. I, too, breathed heavily,
exhausted. Radhika, her eyes still closed, put an arm around my
neck.
In silence, my mind wandered aimlessly, confused. Now I had violated
both of my children. And how different they were from each other!
With one, I felt the tenderest, most innocent kind of love. And with
the other? With Radhika? I didn't know. It wasn't love. It was pure
sex. Just pure sex with a daughter who'd chosen to have her way with
me.
I felt sleep coming, and I had some vague kind of nightmare about
Suman and Simran coming home to a post-it note on the front door, to
a trail of clothes in the dining room and hallway, and to a pool of
blood in the bedroom.
Radhika said something that I didn't hear.
"What, sweetheart?" I said. "My mind was a thousand miles away."
"She said it would be good. And she was right."
"Huh?"
"Making love to you," said my daughter. "She said it would be good,
and it was."
"She? Who?"
"Simran."
It must have been between two and three in the morning when my wife,
Suman, and I came home to a near-dark house on Saturday night. We'd
been out, just the two of us, looking for some other-than- ordinary
fun.
It was our habit, once in a great while, to go out drinking and
dancing, and to look for an extra partner to share between us at a
hotel. We'd done a lot of drinking and dancing this time, but had
found no one interesting enough to consider picking up.
So now, here it was the middle of the night, I was dangerously horny
and unrelieved, while she was so drunk as to be nearly unconscious
on her feet.
On stumbling into the living room, while trying as well to hold
Suman up, I found my oldest daughter, Radhika, 15, and Anjali, our
17-year-old sitter, slouched beside each other on the sofa, their
feet up on the coffee table, staring sleepily into the TV set.
"Radhika, sweetheart," I said quietly, " help me get your mother to
bed. Be right back, Anjali," I added, trying to smile through my
exhaustion and unrequited horniness.
Radhika helped me walk Suman to the bedroom, where I laid her down
on her side of the bed and switched on a bedside lamp. Back here in
the familiar light of home, my wife looked almost shamefully like a
slut, dressed as she was in the shortest possible of skirts, black
thigh-high stockings, painfully high heels, and a clingy, vivid blue
blouse, without a bra, unbuttoned nearly to her waist. Horny as I
was, I was of a good mind to fuck her blind in her sleep!
"Help her to get undressed and comfortable, would you?" I said to
Radhika. "I'll go see Anjali out." I left my daughter there, sitting
sleepily on the edge of the bed, and headed back out to the living
room.
Anjali was a pretty child -- very thin, almost flat-chested, with
beautiful blue eyes and long, straight blond hair. She, too, looked
sleepy as I found her standing and gathering her things, preparing
to leave.
"Are you awake enough to drive?" I said, catching myself looking at
her tight blue jeans, and the nipples that protruded against the
white cotton of her t-shirt, rather than her eyes, as I should have
while speaking.
"Yes, Mr. Malhotra," she said quietly, smiling.
"Call me Raj, " I said, for the hundredth time in the two years in
which we'd made her a frequent guest in our home. "That 'Mr' stuff
makes me feel old."
"Ok," she said " -- Raj." My eyes watched her gorgeous little bottom
wiggle in the tight jeans as I followed her to the door, where she
turned to face me before opening it to leave.
"Uh, Raj," she said, with some obvious hesitation -- then stopped. A
question of some kind of importance to her was clearly written on
her face, but she couldn't seem to express it.
"Let it out, " I said, smiling. "What is it?"
She paused, then said, "Nothing. Never mind."
But her eyes remained glued to mine for a very long moment before
she finally turned, opened the door, and stepped out onto the porch.
What was she thinking, or trying to say?
She just smiled in an odd sort of way as she started her car and
backed out of the driveway; and it wasn't until I was back inside
with the door closed that I thought: Dear God, what if she knows
things? Much, much had gone on in this house in the last few weeks
which, if known by the wrong people, could very well land me in
jail!
Perhaps it was for the best that my mind was so wrecked by
exhaustion and my crotch on fire with desire. Thanks to that, the
worry was only momentary, and I moved back down the hallway toward
the bedroom.
And I stopped dead in my tracks on just stepping through the door.
Our daughter had taken an unexpected approach to undressing her
mother. Suman's skirt and shoes were gone, her blouse was completely
open and practically off, leaving only her tiny black thong bikini
and the stockings.
She was completely unconscious, still on her back, and Radhika lay
beside her, facing me, propped up on one elbow, and was lazily --
luxuriously, even -- rolling one of her mother's stockings down her
thigh, removing it slowly and obviously enjoying herself.
"What are you doing?" I stuttered from the doorway.
"Helping Mom get undressed," she said quietly, her eyes meeting
mine. Her gaze was teasing, and her tongue grazed her lips for an
instant -- causing an involuntary stir in my already hungry lund.
I was paralyzed for a moment by the erotic beauty of the picture. My
wife, practically naked, her voluptuous form and wild black hair
spread unconscious and completely vulnerable across the bed; and my
daughter, equally beautiful, bending over her, undressing her
slowly, and boring holes in my eyes with the fire that emanated from
her own. What the hell was going on here!
"I've never seen her naked before," Radhika said, jogging me from my
paralysis. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"
"I -- " I had a hard time finding my words. "I had thought I'd be
alone with your mother tonight, sweetheart."
Radhika left her mother's stocking rolled half down, and sat up in
the middle of the bed. She wore one of my own white cotton dress
shirts, and her face, surrounded by her long, black hair, was
radiant as she smiled and spoke softly.
"But she's asleep," she said. "I'm sure I'd be much more fun." My
heart leapt a little as she began slowly to unbutton the shirt, and
I felt my lund beginning to come to life. One button at a time, ever
so slowly, the shirt was completely unbuttoned before I found my
voice again.
"Not in here, " I said. "Let's go to the other room."
My daughter looked at me wordlessly, right in the eyes, as she
removed the shirt altogether. She wore nothing else beneath it. And
rather than responding to me, she laid back down on her side,
propped up again on an elbow, and caressed her sleeping mother's
smooth, olive neck. Her own, nicely developing breasts pressed close
to one of my wife's rather large ones.
"No," she said quietly, still looking right into my eyes. "I want to
do it here."
A hot, red flush of something between anger and sorrow flew over me
for a moment -- this was an absurd situation! My daughter, just 15,
was behaving for all the world like a wanton, nymphomaniac slut; and
her mother, in so many ways a true, proven slut, was naked and
passed out drunk beside her! What had gone wrong with this family?
I longed, in that moment, for Simran, my 11-year-old, and for the
pure, innocent love that she and I shared together. Would we ever
bring this situation around to one of healthy, happy love among all
of us? Or would I live forever torn between sweet innocence and
cheap, vulgar slut under the same roof?
But by now all the blood had left my brain and moved to lower
regions; the flush was in my crotch, where -- moving as lewdly as my
daughter -- I unabashedly began stroking my hardening lund through
my pants.
Radhika was staring at me, smiling, while lazily running her hands
up and down her mother's unconscious nakedness.
"Leave her alone," I said. "She's asleep." And I got onto the other
side of the bed, pulled her away from Suman, and pressed a long,
hungry kiss onto her mouth, veritably attacking her tongue with my
own.
My lund was fully erect, already, as my daughter tore at my clothes,
her eagerness equal to my own. And once I was free of my clothes,
her whole body writhed and squirmed almost violently beneath me as I
pressed my whole weight on top of her, digging out the depths of her
mouth with my tongue.
Suddenly, almost angrily, she pulled free of my kiss and whispered,
hoarsely, "In me!"
"What?" I groaned, consumed with passion.
"In me, Daddy! I want you in me! Now!"
She had spread her legs lewdly open, and her crotch seemed to beg
noisily on its own. I raised up and carefully positioned the swollen
head of my lund at her entrance to find that she was already wet --
there would be no need for slow caution...
I watched her beautiful face as I sank my lund into her still-tight
womanhood: her eyes widened and her mouth opened with a tiny,
breathy gasp of pain, then she closed her eyes and smiled slightly
as I reached bottom and began stroking, all the way out, all the way
in, over and over.
I felt as though my lund were twice its nine inches as I watched my
daughter's eyes darting wildly about, and her tongue licking lewdly
at her lips, as I fucked her; her pink nipples were erect as her
breasts heaved and bounced with each of my thrusts.
And I felt I would last forever; though I was hard as a rock, I had
had so much to drink that it could be, if I wished, a very long time
before I came.
I lowered my upper body down onto my daughter's, burying my face in
her neck and shoulder, kissing and licking at her smooth, child-like
skin, while wrapping her tightly in my arms and pounding away at her
pussy.
Her whispered gasps became groans, and then noisy grunts and
whimpers of pleasure, as she neared coming -- and then, almost
without warning, she wrapped her legs around my waist, squeezed
hard, and screamed at the top of her lungs. "Daddy! Oh Daddy! Yes!
Mujhe chodo! Mujhe chodo like that!"
I pounded as hard and deep as I could, and her whole body shuddered
and shook as she came with a blood- curdling scream. And it was only
when she at last lay limp and still that I remembered her mother,
beside us -- and looked to find that, in response to the noise, she
had simply rolled over on her side, still drunkenly asleep, her back
toward us.
"Get up, Daddy, " Radhika said suddenly, seeming impatient. "Get up."
I carefully withdrew my still-throbbing lund and rolled to my side,
looking into her face with a question on mine.
"Lie on your back," she said. I did, and she straddled my thighs,
facing me, and took my rigid lund in her hands. I watched as she
stroked it, slowly, seeming to enjoy how the foreskin rolled up and
down its length. Then she spread my legs and knelt between them, her
lips so close to the head of my lund that I could feel her breath,
her beautiful brown eyes staring straight into mine.
"I've been dying to do this, " she said, her voice low and
sultry. "All the way. I want to take you like this all the way." My
lund twitched in her hands as she touched her tongue to its tip,
teasingly flicking around it before at last closing her mouth around
its head.
I groaned as I watched her lower her head over my lund, moving up
and down slowly, taking a little more in with each downward stroke.
Her dainty hand clasped its base tightly, and my hips at last began
thrusting upward into her throat involuntarily as I found myself
nearing orgasm.
I wanted this to last forever -- there is no describing the utterly
exquisite eroticism of watching my own 15-year-old daughter, her
mouth stretched almost painfully around my too-thick lund, her lips
sloppy with saliva, her nostrils flared, and her eyes wide open and
staring wildly into my own, as she hungrily fucked me with her
mouth.
It was with almost animal brutality that my pelvis wrestled control
from my mind, and began pounding my pole deeper and harder into my
daughter's mouth. Sweet Radhika kept her grip firm on my lund, and,
though already gagging a little, kept her mouth tightly sealed
around me, meeting my upward thrusts with her downward strokes,
seemingly determined to pull this off successfully.
And I could contain it no longer. Starting at the base of my spine,
the burning spasms came, and my loins, quivering and shaking, began
forcing the great loads of cum upward and upward until, at last, in
huge, successive spurts, I began filling my daughter's mouth with
the thick, white liquid.
She gagged and gurgled, tears came to her wide-open eyes, but she
would not release her tight lips from my lund -- swallowing,
difficult as it was, all she could, with the remainder oozing out to
coat her lips and drip down her chin -- as I bucked and pounded
uncontrollably.
Only when I had come completely to rest, limp and motionless, lying
flat on my back and breathing heavily, did she let go. She sat up on
the bed, looking sweetly into my eyes, and attempted a smile. There
was something obscenely angelic about her face in that moment; her
long black hair was stuck to the perspiration on her white forehead
and cheeks; her nostrils flared as she began to catch her breath;
and my cum dripped from her lips as her mouth hung open with
exhaustion.
I, too, was exhausted; all I could do was lie there, speechless, and
stare absently at my daughter as her breasts heaved with her
laboured breathing.
And I must have fallen asleep for a moment; for she was no longer
there when next my eyes came open. Instead, I found her beside me,
slowly peeling her sleeping mother's black thong bikini down her
hips and thighs, pulling them off.
I knew not what was going on, but in my exhausted daze I could only
lie there and watch, barely half- conscious. Radhika had rolled Suman
onto her back, and now the panties were gone, leaving only the black
stockings.
Our daughter positioned herself on the bed between her mother's
thighs, and looked dreamily upward into her sleeping face. In that
spot she remained for a long while before, at last -- seeming as
though she'd come to a difficult decision -- she moved forward to
touch her tongue to her mother's hairy slit.
Was I dreaming? I knew what I was seeing -- and was not happy about
it at all -- but I found myself unable to move or to speak; perhaps
it was the alcohol and the exhaustion?
My daughter began cautiously to lick at her mother's womanhood,
poking here with the tip of her tongue, licking there with the
entirety of it, becoming gradually more comfortable with what she
was doing.
It was only when Suman began, in her sleep, to react to Radhika's
tongue that I finally began to return slowly to my senses. My wife
started groaning, ever so lightly, and rolling her pelvis around in
response to our daughter's explorations; she grew gradually louder
in her moans and little gasps, and Radhika -- evidently emboldened
by this -- became gradually more aggressive as she ate lustfully at
her mother's pussy.
And only when it was too late did I wake up fully and realize that
this couldn't be. Suddenly, Suman was awakened by the pleasurable
sensations between her thighs, opened her eyes, and managed to
gradually look down, focus, and realize what was happening.
"Oh my God!" she screamed, suddenly fully awake and struggling to
move away from Radhika's face. "No! Oh no!"
And in a flash, my eyes moved from the horror on Suman's face to the
indescribable look of anger on Radhika's face -- to the bedroom
door, where Simran had suddenly appeared, her expression lying
somewhere between innocent curiosity and pain...
"It's just something I'm going to have to learn to manage, learn to
live with," said Suman, my wife, her voice quiet and pensive.
It was late at night. Our daughters, Simran, 11, and Radhika, 15,
had long since gone to bed; and we sat alone beside each other on
the couch in the den, dressed only in t- shirts, snuggling, feeling
truly close again for the first time in several days.
We had finally managed, this evening, to calmly and openly discuss
the relationships -- sexual relationships -- that had recently
evolved between myself and our youngest daughter, and then between
myself and our oldest. I had not sought out these relationships;
they had just evolved in a more or less natural way, and Suman --
quite understandably -- though not entirely disapproving, was very
uncomfortable with the situation. And so was I. I loved my wife, and
had no desire to hurt her.
"It's just so easy to feel left out," she said, and I completely
understood. Especially in my relationship with Simran, there had
been up to now a feeling of " keeping this away from Mommy," which
had made both me and my daughter feel as though we were hiding or
even " cheating" behind Suman's back - - even though, of course, Suman
knew what was going on.
"I suppose, " Suman went on, "it was unavoidable. That I'd feel left
out, I mean. It was natural that if the girls wanted more than
the 'usual' amount of affection, they'd go to their Daddy, not their
Mommy, to get it."
"That's probably the healthiest way to look at it," I said. "You
weren't being left out. You just haven't yet become involved in
whatever's going on."
"And of course I don't know how to get involved -- nor even know
whether I want to be. This is just something that's happened and,
even though maybe nobody's intentionally leaving me out of it, the
fact is that I'm not a part of it."
I was pleased that my wife was being as calm and rational as she was
with the situation. I felt that now, perhaps, we were about to reach
a point where the tension that had permeated our household for weeks
might actually, finally, dissolve.
"You very nearly were a part of it the other night," I said,
reminding her of our oldest daughter's rather surprising attempt to
involve her mother in what had been rather a bizarre session between
Radhika and myself. "But..."
"I know," Suman interrupted. "But it scared the hell out of me.
Caught me totally off guard."
"Yes," I said, "and I'm not sure it was a particularly healthy thing
just then anyway. You were drunk, and she was being weird, really
weird. In fact, she had me pretty scared myself that night."
"I think," she said, "that I probably just need to relax, accept it,
and become part of it if -- and I guess only if -- it evolves
naturally. God knows I certainly can't stop or undo what's already
happened."
I looked fully into her face as she spoke, reliving for the
millionth time the thrill my wife's beauty had never ceased to
produce for me. Her gentle, full- lipped smile, the magic and
vitality in her huge brown eyes, and the wild mane of long, curly,
near-black hair that framed her face still affected me as though I
had only just today fallen in love with her for the very first time.
"Just kiss me, " I said, drawing her face close to mine, my lips
parted, awaiting the sweet touch of hers. She snuggled closer as I
wrapped my arms around her, and she kissed me with a passion I had
not felt from her in seemingly a long time. And as usual, in
response to her practiced tongue greeting mine, my lund, lying
lazily across my thigh, began to stir and twitch and begin its
journey to erection...
But then a noise nearby startled us. One of the girls had stumbled
into the kitchen, apparently looking for a late-night snack. Suman
giggled and drew back slightly, and I wrestled with the bottom of my
t-shirt, trying to cover the writhing, nine-inch snake beneath my
belly.
"Who goes there?" said Suman, faking a deep, threatening tone of
voice tempered by a mischievous smile that the kitchen intruder
couldn't see.
In a moment, Simran, our youngest, came wandering sleepily into the
room, also wearing a t-shirt. I was starting to think that t-shirts
had become the family uniform.
"Hi Mommy," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Hi, Daddy." I watched Suman
smile lovingly at our daughter.
"What are you doing up?" she said. "Get hungry?"
"No," Simran said, " Not really. Just woke up, couldn't go back to
sleep."
"Well," said Suman, " come sit with us, then. We can't sleep either."
Simran climbed onto the couch and sat in her mother's lap, snuggling
in comfortably with her back pressed against Suman's breasts, her
head laid luxuriously against her shoulder.
"I saw Daddy kissing you," she said, as soon as she became
comfortable and still. She looked up into Suman's face as she spoke,
her big brown eyes practically a mirror image of her mother's eyes.
Suman stroked the smooth white skin of our daughter's face and said,
smiling, "So you're spying on us, are you?"
"No, Mommy, " Simran replied. "I just saw you. It was an accident, I
promise."
"It's alright, sweetheart," Suman said. "Daddy is a good kisser,
isn't he?"
Simran just smiled, in response, saying nothing, and turned her head
to look at me. The smile warmed me throughout, and doubly so when I
saw that Suman, too, was smiling at me gently -- with no jealousy at
all in her expression.
I leaned over to take my wife's face in my hand and kiss her again.
Suman's kiss was warm, deep, and loving. But after a moment, she
pulled back a little and said, quietly, "I think poor Simran wants
her kiss, too."
Simran, snuggled between us, smiled, closed her eyes, and puckered
her lips. I looked first into Suman's eyes, and she, smiling,
said "She loves you too."
With that remark, I pressed my mouth gently to our daughter's lips,
touching my tongue to them as they parted to let it into her mouth,
where her tongue rolled lazily around in a loving dance with my own.
This moment was, for me, a sensation like none other I had ever
experienced. My daughter kissed me deeply, lovingly, while my wife,
at last apparently resigned to this relationship, ever so gently
stroked the child's hair, which was as long and black and thick as
her own.
My lund, against my will, had popped obscenely out again from
beneath my t-shirt, and was rapidly growing in plain view to its
full, happy size. My right arm was extended around my wife's
shoulders, my left hand was occupied with the smooth skin of my
daughter's face, so it was with desperate motions of my hips that I
tried, without success, to hide my twitching lund.
But there was no use, for Simran, still locked to my lips with a
growingly passionate kiss, took hold of my hard-on with her tiny
hand, and began gently stroking it. I groaned a little, and tried
for a moment to pull away -- I did not want to risk going further
than Suman might be comfortable going -- but then my wife placed her
hand over our daughter's hand, and it was suddenly both their hands
that slowly stroked my throbbing lund.
I drew back from Simran's sweet kiss, rolled back to my original,
straight position on the couch, spread out my arms across its back,
and sighed, involuntarily, " Oh Jesus," as my two beautiful lovers,
the younger in the elder's lap, gently manipulated my stiffening
manhood.
"Simran," Suman whispered at last. "Make love to your Daddy. I think
he's been missing you."
Both of them let go of my lund, and Simran looked sweetly into her
mother's face.
"Are you sure, Mommy?" she said, innocent affection radiating from
her eyes.
"Yes, sweetheart," said Suman, quietly, a gentle smile in her
eyes. "I want us all to be happy." She ran her hands once more
through our daughter's hair, then -- to my surprise -- reached down
to pull Simran's t- shirt up, over her head, and off, revealing the
entirety of her milky white nudity.
"You're beautiful, sweet child," Suman continued. "Make Daddy happy,
and I'll just sit here beside you." Simran smiled sweetly and
pressed her cheek close against her mother's before slowly rolling
out of Suman's lap and into mine, facing me, my now fully erect lund
standing straight up against her smooth white belly.
I pulled her close to me, clasping her little bottom with both
hands, pressing her belly against my rock-hard pole, and lavishing
her neck and shoulders with my kisses while my hands began to wander
luxuriously around across the sweet, soft skin of her back and arms,
and my pelvis began its slow, rhythmic, involuntary grind.
Beside me, Suman pulled off her t- shirt to become as naked as our
daughter; she slumped comfortably deeper into the sofa, pressing
herself as close as she could into my side. With her left hand, she
clasped my right thigh as though to steady herself while, with her
right, she began slowly, almost lazily, to masturbate.
Simran seemed almost eager in her movements, pressing hard kisses to
my lips, wriggling around in response to the motions of my hands,
and gradually moving upward until the throbbing head of my lund
touched her already moist opening.
"I want you inside me, Daddy, " she whispered, her beautiful eyes
staring deep into mine, her breath warm on my face. "Inside, Daddy,
I want you inside!"
Carefully, I held her hips to prevent her moving too quickly, and
began gently poking the head of my lund at her tiny opening; it had
been so long since I'd been inside my daughter I was afraid it would
be, again, like the very first time.
Just fractions of an inch at a time, it slid gently in; and with
each new inch, Simran winced, smiled, and sighed nervously. It was,
still, a terribly large lund for so small a girl. And with each of
her little sighs came a muted gasp from her mother, whose eyes were
fixed on our daughter's pussy, with its tiny tuft of black hair at
the top, as it slid ever farther down my shaft. Suman was getting
off with this; her lips were parted, her breathing uneven, and her
hand dug ever more hungrily into her crotch as she pleasured herself
beside us.
At last, Simran reached bottom, and sat motionless for a moment, the
entirety of my lund buried deep inside her.
"Does it feel good, sweetheart?" I said, admiring the look of sheer,
quiet pleasure on her radiant face.
"Yes Daddy, " she said. "It feels so good. I just want to stay here
forever." I turned to look at Suman, whose dark, flashing eyes still
stared fixedly at our daughter.
"She is beautiful, isn't she?" I said to my wife.
"My God," Suman whispered hoarsely, "my God yes."
My lund twitched against my will inside my daughter as she smiled
sweetly at her mother's response. Then Suman spoke again.
"Simran, sweetheart," she said, her voice still uneven with
nervousness, " can Mommy kiss you? Do you mind?"
My heart leapt at this question. Was Suman finally going to entirely
relax and accept the situation? And how would Simran feel about
this?
Our daughter's smile turned briefly into a look of curious
confusion, then as quickly became a smile again.
"Yes, Mommy, " she said. "I'd like that."
Suman sat up, moved forward, wrapped her arm around Simran's neck,
and drew our daughter's lips to her own. I watched as Suman's tongue
darted hungrily into Simran's mouth -- and as Simran quickly
adjusted to the movements of her mother's voluptuous lips and began
returning the long, passionate kiss.
By now, I could no longer be still; I began slow thrusts with my
lund into our daughter's warmth, fighting off the sting of imminent
orgasm, trying to make it last as I watched my wife and daughter
kissing curiously, hungrily, at each other.
I took Simran's right hand and cupped it around one of her mother's
huge, pendulous breasts, and watched her eyes grow large as she
fondled a woman's breast for the first time.
Her mother's lips still locked to her own, Simran managed to utter a
pleasurably surprised "Mmmm, " in response to this new experience,
and I, involuntarily, began fucking her harder, finding it more and
more difficult to contain my own excitement. Without interrupting my
rhythm, I tore off my t-shirt and tossed it aside, drew a deep
breath and leaned backward to better my view of this unspeakably
erotic moment.
Then suddenly, Suman drew back from our daughter's lips, and
lavished her tongue lovingly down Simran's neck, to the space
between her barely- formed breasts, down farther to her milky white
belly -- then veritably attacked the top of her little slit with her
tongue.
"Oh!" gasped Simran noisily, as her mother's tongue dug and poked at
her clitoral hood. Suman's great bunch of hair covered my belly as
her tongue flicked frantically around, slipping now and then to
graze my lund as it pounded in and out of our daughter's warmth.
Simran's eyes grew huge with curious pleasure; she grasped her
mother's hair as though for stability, and began suddenly to buck
and hump desperately on my lund -- her mother's tongue following her
every motion -- and now she was screaming and squealing
involuntarily as her hair flew in all directions with what was
becoming her violently pleasurable ride to Nirvana...
It was with a nearly pained scream that she at last stopped dead on
my lund -- on the upstroke, with only its head remaining inside her -
- and twitched and bucked violently as Suman's tongue brought her
finally to a screaming orgasm.
For what seemed an eternity, Simran remained perched, motionless, at
the top of my throbbing lund, while her mother's head fell back to
rest on my chest, panting -- in this state of near motionlessness
everything remained until, with no warning, Simran relaxed and rode
my pole all the way back down again, hitting bottom.
This was all it took to set me uncontrollably back into motion. Like
a wild man, I began fucking my daughter nearly violently, thrusting
and banging into her as hard as I could, the juices now welling up
inside me, ready to erupt.
Simran bravely rode it out, while her mother, head still on my
belly, knees now on the floor, watched while masturbating furiously -
- and then, just as I could hold it no longer and was about to
explode, I came out too far, missed trying to get back in, and
Simran toppled to the floor.
"Oh my God!" I shouted, as my cum boiled up, ready to fly, my lund
twitching wildly in the air. Simran, now on her knees, and her
mother beside her, both at the same time grabbed reflexively for my
lund; and both of them, at the same time, began stroking it
furiously as the cum, in huge streams, flew madly into the air to
paint their faces and hair with long, glistening strings of thick
white liquid.
With what looked like a frantic motion, Suman grabbed our daughter's
hair and pushed her face to my lund, and Simran, seeming to
instinctively know what to do, took it eagerly into her mouth as I
groaned with the last spasms of my orgasm.
Suman fell back to lean against the couch, watching our daughter
suckle my fading lund, and finally brought herself off with her
hand, moaning contentedly as she at last came to satisfied rest.
Once my spasmic motions had ceased, Simran raised her head, the
remains of my cum coating her smile, and I will never forget the
look in her eyes at that moment: she looked at both me and her
mother, and seemed, without words, to be asking whether she had made
us both happy.
Suman reached out and pulled Simran to her, enfolding her in her
arms; and I slid down to sit on the floor and embrace them both.
"I love you, Daddy," said Simran, her hand massaging my arm as it
hung draped across her shoulder. "And you, too, Mommy. I love you,
too."
I squeezed Suman closer to me and kissed the top of her head.
"Does this mean we're all happy now?" I said quietly, smiling. Suman
turned her head to look up at me and her, too, smiled gently.
"Yes," she said. "I think we're all happy now."
The voice from the shadow in the corner took all three of us by
surprise. It was Radhika, our 15-year-old.
"Until Daddy fucks me again," she said, her voice angry,
bitter. "And he'll never want either of you again."
It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in spring, and my oldest
daughter, Radhika, 15, and I were in the car, headed home from
having dropped off my youngest, Simran, 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 Radhika 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
colours punctuated with the occasional shouts and laughter rising
above it.
Radhika 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 Radhika, 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 guess 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 Radhika, 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 lund was
hardening, straining painfully against my jeans.
As though reading my mind, Radhika 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 lund 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 lund 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
lund 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 lund, 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 lund-head while
she stared, almost teasingly, into my eyes.
"More," I groaned. "Deeper!" My pelvis shoved upward, trying
involuntarily to plunge more deeply into her mouth -- while, with
her hand, Radhika 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 lund 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
lund and stayed there -- my lund 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 lund 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, Radhika 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 lund 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 lund, sliding nearly painfully to its base,
impaling herself on my rock-hard lund. 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 lund as her pouty lips hung open with heavy breathing.
Finally, she lowered herself forward to lie fully on my body, my
lund 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 Gand with both
hands to steady myself.
"Daddy," she whispered furtively in my ear. "Daddy," she said again,
as though she enjoyed mouthing the word. "Mujhe chodo Daddy. Mujhe
chodo hard. And never stop. Mujhe chodo forever."
At this point, I could not have prevented myself, nor did I need any
urging. My lund by now had a mind of its own, the pelvis beneath it
out of control. Slowly, at first, I began stroking, plunging my lund
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 Gand- cheeks clasped tightly in my hands.
"Yes, Daddy, " she continued to whisper, her breath hot in my
ear. "Yes, Daddy, like that. Mujhe chodo! Fuck your little girl.
Tell me you love me!"
My mouth could find no word beyond a grunt; only my lund could speak
at this moment, and it spoke harder, faster, as I thrust wildly at
my daughter's womb, my Gand thrashing madly around on the quilt.
"Oh holy Jesus, " Radhika 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 lund as I pounded her
harder and harder.
With one hand still clasping her heaving little Gand, 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 throughout my own. She may as well have come
for us both.
After a moment, my lund 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 lund 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 lund, 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 Radhika, turning alarmed 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.
Radhika, 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," Radhika 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?"
The house was unusually warm when Radhika, my 15-year- old daughter,
and I arrived home from a Saturday afternoon spent in the park. My
youngest daughter, Simran, 11, was gone for the evening to a slumber
party, and I expected to find only my wife, Suman, at home.
But when we arrived in the kitchen, we found not only her, but her
sister, Geetanjli, as well. Both, to my surprise, were only barely
dressed -- Suman wore only a black crop-top and black thong panties,
and her sister was dressed only in one of my white button- down, but
unbuttoned, shirts, and white bikini panties.
"Just surviving the heat," Geetanjli giggled, seeing the wide-eyed
looks on our faces. "Your air conditioning's out."
Both women were giggling, and the table around which they sat was
strewn with the makings of the Marguerites they'd been drinking --
surviving the heat indeed!
I was almost embarrassed by their near-nakedness in front of our
daughter. Suman, at 34, was still magnificently beautiful with her
long, curly, near- black hair and riveting dark Brown eyes; and
Geetanjli, just a year older, though less voluptuous and more
athletic in appearance, shared her sister's exotic colouring while
also exuding an unmistakeable, nearly animal, sexuality.
The giggles subsided for a moment; and in that instant, my wife's
face turned suddenly serious -- whether really or jokingly I
couldn't tell -- and she looked at our daughter and said, "Precious
been fuckin' Daddy again! I can see it all over her face!"
Radhika looked at me with an expression somewhere between panic and
questioning -- and I, horrified by the remark, looked at Geetanjli,
whose jaw had gone slack, her eyes -- wide open -- peering into
mine.
"Hee, hee, never mind!" Suman spurted out, now giggling again -- and
very visibly drunk.
"I'm taking a shower," Radhika said quietly, and left the room, her
long, wavy, dark Black hair swinging behind her.
"Join the party, " said Suman, trying to recover from her case of the
giggles. I fetched a beer from the refrigerator, opened it, and sat
down across from them at the table.
"Maybe I should be getting home, " Geetanjli said, moving as though
to stand up. She was clearly handling her alcohol better than her
sister.
"No, no, hell no," said Suman, grabbing her by the wrist. "Sit down.
The party's just started. And we weren't finished talking anyway."
Sitting right next to Geetanjli, she leaned over to rest her head on
her sister's shoulder. "We were trying to figure out why Daddy liked
you better than me, remember?"
"You're being silly," Geetanjli replied. "You only thought so."
"No," Suman slurred on, "I think he found you sexier!" Then, her
voice lowered to a near-theatrical whisper, she said, "You were
fucking Daddy, weren't you?"
"Dear God, what's gotten into you?" muttered Geetanjli, caressing
Suman's head as it rested on her shoulder. She looked at me for a
moment -- deeply into my eyes, in fact, as though trying to gauge my
thoughts -- then, after a silence, went on. "Like you weren't," she
whispered, sighing at the same time.
Now it's getting deep, I thought, feeling a sort of panic over the
realization that I was about to hear things that I probably didn't
want to hear.
Suman, all her giggling gone now, her head still resting on her
sister's shoulder, looked at me with a big-eyed, drunkenly sad
expression.
"I thought it was only me," she said, turning her face up to look
into her sister's eyes. "I had no idea."
Geetanjli moved her other arm into place to pull Suman's head closer
to her breast; Suman clasped her sister around the shoulders, and
there the two sat for a time in a quiet embrace.
Feeling awkward, I sat silently with my beer, admiring the beauty of
the two sisters, admiring the beauty of their embrace. I dreaded the
moment in which their conversation might continue. Though Suman was
my wife of so many years, and though I had long been very fond of
Geetanjli as a person, I wasn't sure I really belonged in the
conversation.
"Well," said Geetanjli, mustering a smile, "you were the one with
the boobs!" And, with a suddenness of movement, she pulled her hand
free and teasingly pinched one of her sister's breasts which were,
indeed, much larger than her own.
Suddenly giggling again, drunk as she was, Suman jumped free of the
embrace and pinched back, missing, and giggling some more, before
reaching out to take up her drink and toss down its remainder.
"Make me a drink!" she said, still giggling, speaking this time to
me. "You're being useless so far!"
Geetanjli's drink was empty too, so I made new ones for both women,
finding myself suddenly deep in thought. My relationship with my
wife's father was a good one, I held the guy in really high esteem,
and had just paid a visit to him a couple of weeks before at his
little farm upstate.
And now, I learn that he was fucking both his daughters. That he was
fucking my wife before I knew she existed. How, I wondered, would I
view him from here forward? But how, I wondered also, was his
situation then any different from mine now? And what about "then?"
Was my wife still fucking her father?
"Really," Suman said, taking up her new drink and looking at
Geetanjli, "I really did always think you were sexier than me." I
snapped out of my brief reverie to also look at Geetanjli.
"Quit it," she said, grinning. "It's your tequila talking."
"No," Suman went on, " it's my heart talking. I used to watch you.
You didn't know that, did you? I used to watch you dressing and
undressing, showering -- even watched you in your sleep. I always
wanted to touch you - - you know, touch you. But I was afraid to.
Afraid of what you would think."
I felt more and more like an intruder on a conversation that
shouldn't be happening in front of me. But I was too spellbound for
it to even occur to me to stand and leave. And at this point, it was
as though neither of the.