This story is a mixture of a little fact and a lot of fiction. As is so often said, we have no control over whom we fall in love with even if those involved are father and daughter. I think what happens here in my story happens more often than some may be comfortable acknowledging.
Your vote is encouraged and your comments welcomed.
A special thanks to rexbrookdale for his help in editing this story.
Special Note: This story is told from a two character perspective.
Maggie Pintero was a beauty. The first time I saw her, she was wearing what I guess could best be described as a sundress, made of soft, light cotton with small pink and green flowers against a yellow background. Small cap sleeves, a low bodice that displayed the warm soft blush of her breasts, and a full gathered skirt that when she walked fluttered, whispering of the treasure beneath. I remember the dress so vividly because as a young man just graduating high school, our neighbor lady down the hall, with whom I'd had my first sexual experiences that summer, had a similarly colored dress.
I'd practically lived at her apartment that summer. I would go over for a beer or two and end up having all the sex (freaky and otherwise) I could handle. On a nice day, when there were only a few people at the pool below her apartment, she would take my hand and lead me out onto her balcony. Pulling me up close behind her, she'd lift her dress up in back and bend over against the balcony railing. Staring out absently at the view and softly moaning with pleasure, she would urge me on, "Yes, Philly. . . yes baby, just like that," as I plowed into her wet, grasping pussy with youthful exuberance.
Maggie had just celebrated her 19th birthday. She was a little thing, slender and petite; exotic looking pale olive toned skin; firm, high tits, with what seemed like perpetually hard, peaked nipples, and a small, tight ass that I dearly wanted to fondle. Her thick, lustrous auburn hair hung below her shoulders and her large, long lashed brown eyes complimented full sensual lips that I imagined would feel amazing wrapped around my cock.
Soon after her father, Jack's funeral, Maggie and I had a chance to sit, talk and find out a little about each other.
"Well, my background is pretty boring. I'm an ex Marine, divorced for almost ten years now, no kids. I own a reasonably successful construction company and I'm 34 years old. Your Dad and I met about six months before his accident. We were friends from the beginning; he talked a lot about you, Maggie, I'm just sorry that we didn't have the chance to meet before all of this happened."
With a sense of relief, I saw that the mention of my age had drawn only the briefest lift of her eyebrow; hell, as far as she was concerned I was just some old guy who had been a friend of her father's.
She told me about her Mom and Dad divorcing; how it had torn her apart, but happily made her attachment and love for her Dad even stronger. It had been just the two of them up until she had gone away to college.
"You know, I didn't want to leave him, but he made me go," she said wistfully. "He said I needed to get away from him."
"Maybe we had been too close, only concerned about fulfilling the other's needs. I think back and sometimes I miss him terribly. It was just Daddy, he was my whole world, and that was enough. Now there's no one."
She looked at me and quietly said, "I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
She sat there gazing downward, and finally lifting her head, forced a smile and changed the subject.
God help me, but I think I already had the hots for this girl.
Philip Bishop was a very attractive man, tall with an athletic build, and a beautifully bald, shaved head. His hard, rough facial features reflected a rock-like inner strength that could be as single-minded and unforgiving as it could be thoughtful and caring.
He was a friend of my Dad's, and after Daddy died, without realizing it at first, I turned more and more to him. Mom and Dad had divorced several years ago, and it had been Daddy and me ever since. Within six months of my moving away to college, Daddy died and I came back home. For the first time in my life, I had felt alone, afraid and lost. That's when I met Phil.
I didn't go back to school; actually, I didn't do much of anything for a while. My doctor felt I was going through what he called clinical depression.
I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't been there to help me. He pretty much took care of everything during that time. In fact, after his death, we found out that Daddy had been up to his neck in debt. It was Phil, who arranged it financially so that I could keep the house. I owed him more than I could ever repay.
I liked Philip as a friend; he was a younger version of my Dad, and I felt safe with him, never questioning or doubting his intentions, and always embarrassingly aware of the sexual tension that hung in the air whenever we were together.
I knew it was none of my business. I mean, I barely knew this girl, but I was concerned about her. After all, she was Jack's daughter. Her doctor felt she was suffering from depression and anxiety and so I made a point of trying to keep an eye on her, to make sure she was okay. It must have seemed as though I was constantly hovering nearby, but she was Jack's kid, she needed someone to be there. I wanted to be there for her.
I could no longer deny the very strong sexual attraction whenever I was around her.
Phil was attracted to me, but at first I hadn't felt the same way. I didn't want to hurt his feelings and I tried to stay away from him.
Despite earlier misgivings, I soon became more comfortable with his constant presence. He began using Daddy's old office occasionally during the afternoon and once or twice a week he would stay after dinner and keep me company before I went off to bed, leaving him to let himself out.
I had gone to bed right after dinner one night and for some reason had been tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, unable to sleep. Tired and frustrated, I got up and walked through the house and finally downstairs into the kitchen. It was still early, not even ten o'clock, and I found Phil sitting at the kitchen table, drink in hand, still going over business papers.
He looked up quizzically. "I can't sleep. Thought I'd get a glass of warm milk and take something to help me sleep." I explained.
"Well, hopefully that will help," he said. With that, I went back upstairs to bed and soon fell into a fitful sleep.
A noise woke me and through drowsy eyes, I saw Phil standing in the open bedroom doorway, his form outlined by the hallway light.
"Phil? Phil, what is it? Is something wrong?"
He said nothing, just stood there watching me.
"Phil, you're scaring me, you need to leave . . . now," I said in a shaky voice.
"No, I'm not leaving Maggie." He stepped into the room and closed the bedroom door. Turning around to face me, he unbuckled his jeans, let them drop to the floor, and stepped out of them. When he stood up, I saw his huge erection and knew why he was there, what he wanted.
"No! I won't let you, no!" I had screamed and then in the next breath, "Why? Why, Phil? You were Daddy's friend, my friend." I felt hot tears of panic brimming and overflowing down my cheeks.
He walked across the room to my bed and stared down at me. Then he leaned close, and I could smell the faint scent of brandy as he reached to pull back the bedclothes. He had seen my tears and I heard him almost pleadingly say, "Don't baby, don't cry. I just want to take care of you Maggie, just let me take care of you."
I had walked over to the bed were she lay clutching the bedclothes, and pulled the covers out of her hands, throwing them back until they piled at the foot of the bed.
She had seen my erection. She lay there tightly holding her legs together, as if that would protect her from what I intended to do.
"Phil, please don't do this," she'd begged, "I don't want this. . . "
"Don't be afraid. There's no need to be afraid of me, Maggie."
I leaned toward her and took hold of the hem of her nightshirt. As I pulled, she let me move it up and over her head and arms. I caressed her face and kissed her, inserting my tongue into her mouth while fondling a breast. Lowering my mouth and suckling at first one and then the other nipple until they were hard and long like eraser tips. I could feel her trembling under my hand.
Her stomach muscles twitched as her hips moved involuntarily. I sucked her breast into my mouth and then impulsively, but lightly bit her nipple. She gasped, but said nothing. Releasing her breast, I saw the red marks left by my teeth on her tit; a reminder that even in pain, pleasure was possible. More gently now, I licked and kissed the bruise.
She was moaning even as she protested, "Phil, no don't . . . don't!"
"Be quiet Maggie," I said more harshly than I had intended. This silenced her, as my eyes feasted on her beautiful breasts, now swollen and pink, her areolas a darker, dusky rose color, her nipples taut and almost brown, begging to be sucked and teased.
I took my time, moving slowly down her body, luxuriating in licking and sucking, from her breasts all of the way to her ankles and even her toes. I tongued my way up along the soft oh so silky insides of her legs, and once I had reached her pussy, I explored her through the fabric of her panties until they were sopping wet from my licking and her juices. She smelled so good.
Finally pulling her panties off and tossing them carelessly onto the floor, I leaned in and exhaled warm breath lightly over her pussy, gently probing her, spreading her labia, pushing my tongue up inside the folds and licked up and over her swollen clit. Slipping first one and then two fingers into her pussy, I slowly began to finger fuck her.
I let my tongue search until I found her 'spot', and each time I hit it just right, she would grab the back of my head and desperately clamp her thighs against my ears.
"Please Phil, please," she begged, and instinctively I teased her more; with every flick of my tongue, surges of pleasure sizzled through her body, as she bucked and jerked against my mouth. I could literally feel her excitement and the sexual heat emanating from between her legs. Flicking my tongue with a steady rhythm over and around her clit, she began to whimper and moan, "Please don't stop, don't stop . . . Oh god, Daddy, never stop."
So caught up in the sexual bliss that she was experiencing, all decorum and propriety was forgotten. My proper, prim little girl lay with her legs thrown open and her hips humping my mouth with abandon, until with a muffled scream of "Daddddddddyyyyyyyyy," she stiffened as an intense, mind-blowing orgasm flooded through her. As she lay there, sexually sated, her eyes closed, and her breathing still fast and shallow and I marveled at her beautiful, trembling legs, the female cum visible at the entrance to her swollen pussy, and her still protruding hard, pink clit.
"Open your eyes, Maggie. Open them and look at me." When she finally focused on me, I mounted her. My breath caught when my hard, engorged cock effortlessly slid into her warm, wet pussy. As I stroked into her and she lay soft and willing under me, I felt the pressure increase in my balls and then the welcomed release of my seed exploding into her tight pussy.
I awoke early in the morning, naked, on my stomach with my face buried in his chest. My legs were spread, with one tossed casually across his thighs and his hand caressing my ass.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his large, warm hand possessively slipping between my legs, cradling my pussy. I tried to move away from his touch, my pussy still sore and swollen from the night before, but he held me there within is reach.
"Stop squirming, damn it," he growled as he wiped his fingers across the tip of his cock covering them in the clear, slick fluid that was already seeping out. Taking his now moist fingers, he began stroking them in and out of my pussy. The pleasure from what he was doing taking me by surprise and making me gasp. When he rolled me onto my back and slid his hot, hard cock into me, my discomfort was shamefully forgotten. "Oh yes, yes, yes . . . ."
Off and on through the day, I kept finding my thoughts going back to Maggie.
I know women often call their lovers "daddy" during sex, but In the midst of her passion last night when she called for daddy, was she referring to me? When I was eating her, and she started repeating over and over "Daddy don't stop", and then when she had called out "Daddy" at the peak of her orgasm, something in my gut said she wasn't talking to me. The tone and urgency in her voice told me she was calling out to someone else. It was a habit of long standing, and last night she had cried out his name without thinking, without meaning to. I don't know why, but the nagging dark thought in the back of my head kept saying it was Jack that she'd been calling for.
That couldn't be though because . . . Jack was her father.
I was worried and fearful, afraid Philip would say something about last night. I remembered clearly, as Phil brought me to orgasm, calling out for my Dad. Phil was not a stupid man and I knew that unless I was very careful, he would discover my secret. I wasn't ashamed or anything, but it was something special between Daddy and me and no one else's business. I didn't owe Phil any reasons or explanations.
I suppose there are people who would say that it was my fault, my being a slut and tempting him during an emotionally and psychologically weak time in his life. Perhaps they were right. At the start, I may have been a bit immature and naïve, wanting only to lift his sadness, to making him happy. Those feelings eventually changed and evolved into something that we both wanted and needed. We were two desperately unhappy people needing comfort and reassurance and we found what we needed in each other.
Daddy had begun sleeping with his door open years earlier, originally so that he could hear me if I called to him during the night. I remember one night in the quiet of the house, I heard sounds coming from his room and getting out of bed, and I went down the hall and peeped inside the open door. In the dim light, I could see him tossing and turning under the messy covers talking in his sleep, obviously having a nightmare.
"Daddy. . . Daddy, are you alright?" I asked from the doorway, but there was no response.
I stood there a moment before walking over to the bed. He was covered in a light sweat, obviously agitated by whatever he had been dreaming. I pulled back the covers and got into bed with him.
"Its okay, it's okay Daddy; I'm here with you," I whispered, stroking his damp hair.
He seemed to calm as I held him and talked to him. When I heard his breathing quiet, I closed my eyes and soon fell asleep beside him. At some point during the night, I rolled over onto him, straddling his leg so that it was nestled snuggly between my own. When I awoke that morning, I could feel an achiness between my legs I hadn't experienced before, and could see the cool, wet stickiness I had left on his thigh. From that night on, I would sleep in his bed occasionally during the week. We'd snuggled under the covers, talk, watch a movie or read. In my girlish love for him, I foolishly thought this innocent closeness was okay.
I said nothing to her that first day, thinking it would be better to 'let sleeping dogs lie', but I couldn't forget; I needed to know what her relationship had been with Jack, and it just kept gnawing at me. At some point, we would need to talk about it.
A couple of months had passed since her dad's death, and I had begun to see a real difference in her attitude and demeanor. No longer wary of me, she seemed pleased when I was there with her.
We didn't live together, but often we spent the night together. When she stayed with me, she was less uptight and more direct in expressing her desire, I came to prefer having Maggie come to my place. Despite her inexperience, and though sometimes hesitant, she was sexually open and willing, seldom refusing when I wanted to play. She would crawl into my bed, snuggling close against my back. It was hard not to let myself become aroused from the feel of her body against to mine; bony knees, cold feet and all. I looked forward to her being there in my bed, freely giving herself to me. I didn't want to admit it, but she very quickly became more special to me than I had imagined possible.
Despite my being almost fifteen years her senior, the sex between us was very good and grew even better as we learned more about and began to trust each other. One afternoon I thought the time was right and I sat down to talk with her about her father.
It had been a lazy, sunny afternoon of playful kissing and teasing; Maggie had let me take her top off and I hungrily fondled and sucked her beautiful tits. "Open for me baby," I whispered and Maggie had shyly opened her legs. Slipping my hand into her bottoms, I had massaged her clit and fingered her wet pussy until her beautiful body quivered; my lovely baby girl came wonderfully into my hand in all of her wet, sticky sweet glory.
As she clung to me, I caressed her warm, wet pussy and asked, "Did Jack do this with you, Maggie?"
Her smile faded. "What? Of course not!" she had protested. "Where in the world would you ever get an idea like that? He was my father; he would never do anything like that to me!" She struggled to get out of my lap.
She lashed out angrily, as I held her tighter. "You bastard, how could you even ask me something like that!"
"Did your Dad do this to you Maggie?" I felt her stiffen against me. "Did he make you feel good like this?"
Her body finally went limp, and she began to cry in deep, hoarse sobs.
"Oh, Maggie . . . it's okay, it was a long time ago."
"Listen to me. I just needed to know, I didn't want there to be any secrets. I didn't want anything that happened between the two of you to come between us."
It took a few minutes for her to stop crying and pull herself together, but when she did, it was clear the spell had been broken. She began to tell me more about her relationship with her father.
I was so relieved when Phil finally confronted me and got me to talk about Daddy and what we had shared. I had been holding it, bottled up inside for such a long time. Since knowing Phil, I had wanted to tell him, but had no idea how. Cradled protectively in his strong arms, I found I could finally tell him how it had started between us.
Dad and I had been sleeping in his bed for several months. One night I was awakened by the sound of the TV coming from the den. Getting up out of bed, I tiptoed downstairs to investigate. I peeked in, and saw Daddy, passed out in his chair. He still had his clothes on, but his pants were unzipped and his cock lay free and exposed. I stood, mesmerized, staring at it, never having seen a man's cock close up like that. I walked closer and noticed the tears on his cheeks, and my heart broke; he had really loved Mom, and had never wanted the divorce.
Inching closer I then did something I knew might not be right, thinking only of comforting him. The full consequence, of my misguided desire to help him, was the last thing on my mind as I knelt between his legs. I leaned in and stretched out my tongue, and delicately licked his softened cock along its length, then getting bolder and stroking up and down as it started to get hard and thick. I paused, fascinated, to watch its quick transformation, and held it in my hand. It was warm, hard, and throbbing, the red mushroom shaped tip oozed slippery, clear pre-cum out of the little hole. I touched my tongue to it, wanting to taste and feel his pre-cum and instinctively began licking it again.