by Duff ©
was split into 3 parts. Jump to any of the segments from here:
"Are you going to let his hard cock plunge into your cunt ?" hissed Mrs Townsend.
Nicola whimpered and rested her head against her father's chest, nuzzling into his neck. Her resolve was exhausted. Sweet surrender, sweet release.
"His fat cock is in your tight cunt," sang Mrs Townsend softly, "and it feels so nice, so right."
George was in control now. His own needs had to be met. The frothing cum was churning in his balls, his cock reaching out, stretching into her tight cunt.
Mrs Townsend leaned even closer to Nicola's ear and in the quietest whisper said, "He's going to fuck his little girl. His big fat cock is in your cunt, and you are enjoying it. You want to feel his cock pump into you. You want his cum."
Nicola trembled and little quivers rippled her body. Wracking sobs shook her shoulders. She climbed closer into the wet warmth of her father's body, hugging him. Loving him.
"Yes, I want it."
"What do you want, dear ?"
"I want his cock," she mumbled into her daddy's chest, spittle drooling from her mouth.
"What else do you want, dear ?" Mrs Townsend's voice was caring, even maternal.
"I want his cum inside me", sobbed Nicola.
Somewhere inside her demons had released themselves, dark and forbidden desires came to the surface.
"Ooooh !" cried Nicola as a spasm of delight flashed in her cunt. It was more than the frenetic pumping of the cock now, more than the luscious feel of the penetrating shaft. It was the idea. The taboo. Incest. It WAS her father, not a stranger, it WAS her sweet daddy fucking her. He filled her. His cock was jamming into her. Her daddy was going to cum inside his little girl.
"Aahhhh ! Oh please god, yes ! I want his cum inside me," she shouted.
The wave was releasing itself. She had no control. Her cunt relaxed and tightened and gripped and somewhere deep inside her something broke and filled her with unimaginable sensations. Her brain turned colours into sounds and sounds into sweeping emotions of desire and release and love and forgiveness and welcome. Nicola clawed her father's back, ripping his skin with her nails. Her legs stiffened. A great tremor ripped through her body.
"Yes ! YES !" said Mrs Townsend, her eyes ablaze, "I know how it feels dear. I KNOW. Oh sweet jesus it's so good isn't it !"
Nicola nodded into her father's neck. She was nearly spent. He had to hold her entirely by himself now. He fucked into the limp body, teeth gritted, eyes clenched. His cock so taut it hurt him. George could not explain his feelings. Something about the smell, something about her vulnerability, he seemed to feel love come flooding from the young woman's twitching, trembling body.
"Oh he's going to do it !" beamed Mrs Townsend, "His cum is going to stream into you. His seed will be in your womb."
"AAARGH! YES!" yelled Nicola, "OH GOD YES !"
He heaved furiously into Nicola, cum roped out of him and washed the walls of her cunt. Long spurts of intense pleasure followed pulsing thrusts of his hips. His violence frightened him, the urgency and delirium overwhelmed him. His knees gave away and they sank to the floor, Nicola's legs unlocking and spread wide, letting her father take her completely. His weight was crushing and comforting. She felt his sperm in her. She felt her cunt relish and absorb the thick life-giving cum. She was on another plane of acceptance and understanding.
Mrs Townsend brushed away a strand of sweat-soaked hair and smiled. She, too, had tears in her eyes.
"Thankyou", was all Nicola could say to her.
Nicola lay in bed for a long, long time the next morning. The warm autumn sun streamed into her room. Her body ached deliciously. There were bruises on her arms and her lips were tender. Everything was remembered with such clarity, but everything was surreal. She felt her puffy cunt and allowed the emotions and sensations wash over again. And he didn't even know it was her ! She hugged herself and almost giggled. Even afterwards in the lazy lethargic aftermath when he had kissed her long and deeply and gently, and plucked at her nipples and whispered sweet endearments, he didn't know he had just fucked his little girl !
Nicola sprang out of bed. She had never felt so alive. She took a hand mirror and checked her face again for any signs of the thick makeup. It had taken ages to paste on, and almost as long to scrub off last night. Thank god daddy stayed on for drinks she thought. She had taken particular care to hide her gown and stockings and shoes. She examined herself in the mirror, holding it close. She was completely clean. She smiled. Clean !! This time she did giggle. Incest girl. Father fucker. The words were meaningless and at the same time wonderfully, miraculously true. It was a secret she could nurse for the rest of her life.
She skipped down to the kitchen where her father was hunched over the newspaper. Only twenty-four hours ago it was like this, thought Nicola.
"Hello tubby", she called.
She had her back to him as she prepared her breakfast.
"Did you have a good time at the Club last night, daddy?" She was smiling broadly, looking out the window onto the yard.
"Yes," said George, "Yes, it was very good. And your party?"
He turned a page of his paper.
"The best," she said, leaning over to the table to get some butter.
She was ravenously hungry and fussed over her cereal and toast, cutting up some fruit and humming tunelessly.
When she looked up, her father had gone.
Puzzled, she looked down the hallway and peered into the lounge. He was no-where to be seen. She picked up the newspaper and read for a while.
She took the dishes to the sink and looked into the bright blue sky and watched a pretty bird flitting to and fro. She followed it from branch to branch and then onto the garden table, where her father was sitting perfectly still. His bright pyjamas were incongruously colourful against the dark green lawn.
She shrugged, and went to change. She was going shopping.
What Nicola hadn't known was that she had not been quite as careful as she had thought.
When she had reached over the butter, George had glanced up. His eyes appreciated the deep cleavage of his daughter's breasts in an objective, aesthetic, paternal sort of way.
And then a stab of lightning had pierced his heart. Blood drained from his face. His forehead and chest immediately bathed in sweat. While Nicola busied herself with breakfast all his willpower was needed to move his legs, straighten them, tell them to walk away. He wanted to faint, to collapse into a ball. To weep.
When he looked at the smooth roundness, the sweet tanned swelling of his daughter's breast he saw the beauty spot which had been so carefully and indelibly drawn, but had been forgotten about.
Mademoiselle's beauty spot.
When Nicola returned that afternoon the house was empty.
She found her father still sitting in the chair on the lawn, bathed in the golden late afternoon sunshine. He was dressed in gardening clothes, but his tools lay unused beside him, and his hands were clean. He half-turned his head as he heard Nicola step down the outside stairs and walk softly across the grass. Nicola realised he was troubled.
"Is something wrong, Daddy?"
There was a long silence. George Jensen stared vacantly into the distant sky.
"It's....a little difficult to explain, Nicola. You know in our family we have tried to be open with each other...," his throat caught. "We've never held secrets too close to the .... breast...." The word seemed deliberately chosen. Nicola's heart skipped. She eased herself into a seat beside her father. She was confused and a little afraid by his strange demeanour and awkward words. A dog barked distantly. There was warm rustle of wind which shimmered across Nicola's low-cut summer dress. Breast ? In wasn't a word he would use carelessly.
She looked down and saw the forgotten beauty spot. Despite several showers, it still showed clearly. The one her father had been so attracted to the night before...could well have seen that morning...she paled.
What is he saying?, she thought, on the verge of panic. Surely he must realise I didn't know.... Her heart was fluttering uncontrollably. Did he know it was me all along ?
She looked up. He did not meet her gaze, but continued. "The party I went to last night...I met a most incredible young woman...French, I think, and dressed like an old-time courtesan...French...yes..." He paused, "I don't suppose you'd know her name."
Nicola took a breath. Is he playing a game with me ? Is he being cruel ? But that wasn't like her father, even when he was angry or upset he never intentionally hurt her. Her mind wrestled with possibilities. He knows it was me, her mind screamed, why doesn't he say so ? She opened her mouth to broach the subject openly. Confess. Explain. But there was something about her father's distant nervousness. He wasn't angry. He was somehow vulnerable.
"I think...the woman you're talking about is a friend of Donna Townsend," she said quietly.
George Jensen shifted almost imperceptibly in his seat. He remained looking somewhere into the middle distance. The wind had died away, and there was only silence.
"Yes, that makes sense. She and Donna came there together, and Melanie, umm, Donna's mother introduced us."
"If you like, I could ask Donna...maybe get you a name?"
"No...no...", George said a little too quickly, "I'm not looking for her name."
Nicola relaxed further. It is a game, but he's not being cruel. She leaned forward slightly, almost conspiratorially. Her mind raced. We're politely pretending it was someone else, and that's the way Daddy wants it.
"You said...you...had a good time, Daddy ?"
"I certainly enjoyed her company, and I hope she enjoyed mine," said George, his voice almost a whisper.
"I'm...quite sure she did, Daddy. I'm certain she really did like your company. I told you yesterday lots of women admire you. They...they think you're gorgeous."
They sat motionless in the fading light. Then George took a deep breath, glanced at his daughter, and looked away again.
"It's true, the flesh is weak, Nicola. I can't help wondering if there's some place I might meet her again. Somewhere well away from Melanie Townsend and her meddlesome matchmaking." Nicola stopped breathing. She could barely believe what she was hearing. He was offering much more than a meeting. Nicola was afraid to hesitate, lest he misinterpret her.
"I...well...you might try the Capstone Club. They have a youngish crowd, and you would look out of place...but they have a fancy dress party on the twenty-fourth, and you could wear a mask. I think it's the kind of place where Donna's friend would go."
George was wrestling with the idea, as she was. "Capstone Club. Maybe I'll give it a try."
"It's a fun place but....I have to say I won't be there that night...", she looked at her father, praying he understood her meaning. "You'll have to go without me." It was essential for them both to understand that the Mademoiselle and Nicola Jensen were not one and the same.
"That's the weekend Donna has asked me to go rafting in the Blue Mountains," she said softly. And a good thing that was, she thought, if Donna was at the Capstone too, it would be awkward. "So you won't see me all that day".
George shifted in his chair, and coughed. "Well, I might as well. And if the Mademoiselle isn't there...I'll understand. I really will."
"Daddy," Nicola began quietly," You'll never know until you try. It could be a great adventure. And if you meet her...you could see if she wanted to see you again." Nicola was careful to refer to the Mademoiselle in the third person. Someone 'other'.
That night, Nicola took a long bath, carefully scrubbing away the spot on her bosom. And reflecting on what could lie ahead.
A secret identity. A double life, one day at a time. The secret which was not a secret .... and if a mask or act slipped, it would be met by a loving adjustment, not shock and pain.
They both knew, and would not say, and were agreed on that.
Nicola and Mademoiselle would have secrets from each other, and would have to be careful to keep those secrets straight...and a remark about one to the other must be responded to in character and treated carefully, since after all George would know what he was saying and to whom.
And if he ever should choose to take the naked redhead in his arms, and she to enter them, it would be no one else's contrivance, no trickery, but choice, and no love but theirs.
In the meantime she would have to study her French.
was split into 3 parts. Jump to any of the segments from here:
|Another top quality story by Duff.|
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