Her Daddy's Dick

Author's Note: Before reading, please note this story contains scenes involving sex with a person who is unconscious due to stroke. There is prior consent, but if this is a place you, as reader, cannot go, then please skip this story. Thanks.

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The first time my daughter, Vicca, ever showed interest in what my cock was up to was when she asked, "Daddy, can you still have sex with Momma?"

Despite the way it sounded, her question probably wasn't about my ability to perform. Yes, I suppose at 53 I was an old man compared to my nineteen-year-old daughter. My dick was old, too, just not old and broken.

I figured her question had more to do with her momma, Denise.

Two years ago at age 50, Denise had her third stroke. It left her pretty darn useless. She wasn't dead, but she might as well have been. There had been massive brain damage. She was bed-bound. She couldn't talk or express herself. Denise needed to be fed and bathed by others, and the doctor told us there was no hope for improvement.

Vicca and I brought Denise home from the hospital where Vicca went to work right away as Denise's caregiver. I didn't ask her to do it. Vicca didn't complain. She loved her momma.

Vicca had been seventeen when that awful third stroke happened. After two years of wondering, curiosity must have won over, and she asked me that question.

I responded, "Can I? Yes. Do I? No."

"Why not, Daddy?"

Denise and I married young, and we had five boys over nine years. After a five-year hiatus in babies, I assumed we were done having them, but Denise wanted one more. She wanted a girl. Along came Victoria.

We lived in northwestern Nebraska, and I kept 1100 head of cattle. The boys home-schooled with their momma and worked the ranch. When each, in turn, hit eighteen, I sent them off. One of them joined the Coast Guard. One of them went to college. The other three went off to be apprentice hands-on other ranches because I wanted them to earn their way through hard work, just as my father had made me.

From the minute she joined our family, Vicca and her mother were inseparable. Denise home-schooled her little girl just like the boys, but more diligently it seemed to me. I'd typically get the boys after lunch and then put them to work. With Vicca, I didn't see her until after 3:00. When I asked about it, Denise said, "Just like a regular school day." I didn't point out how the boys had been different.

As my daughter grew up, she never showed much interest in anything other than the ranch. Before the third stroke, Denise and I chatted about Vicca's future, and my wife seemed to think Vicca was intent on carrying on here. I fretted about it, but Denise assured me that some young hand would come along, and our Vicca would take up with him and be his wife and helper, just as Denise had been mine.

This conversation about her momma and I was bordering on inappropriate. So, I asked, "What's your interest?"

Vicca said, "Just trying to understand is all—husbands and wives in this sort of situation."

Denise had hereditary high blood pressure. Her mother, my mother-in-law, died of a stroke at age 57. So, after Denise's had her first stroke—a mild one—she began to quietly prepare for death or incapacitation.

Denise went to an attorney in Chadron and had a Last Will and Testament and a Living Will made up, signed, and notarized. There was a lot of paperwork in those files, but one of them surprised the hell out of me.

She had pulled that particular document out of the folder and showed it to me in bed on the night they had been finished. It gave very clear instructions that if she were to become unresponsive, she gave her consent to any sexual act her husband desired to perform upon her body.

"Denise, what in the hell is this?" I asked in shock.

She explained her thinking seriously and sincerely.

So, I shrugged and said, 'Well, alright, if that's how you want it."

Denise nodded. "And I'll have it no other way."

Then, I decided to kid her about it. "Any sexual act? Any?" I asked her with a smile.

"Any," she said, winking.

That night we did some things together we hadn't done in a while. I kept asking, "This, too?"

She kept saying things like, "Yes, that one especially."

It seems like so long ago now. I don't think either of us really believed it would happen, and neither of us figured what should have been obvious—her mindless body could never replace her.

So, I said to Vicca, "Well, since you put it that way, I'll shoot you straight. I tried once, and it didn't feel right—not so much touch-feel, you understand, but mostly heart-feel, I mean."

"Like guilt?"

"Maybe I felt guilty. I don't recall that as much as just wanting your Momma to respond, to be there kinda—be present with me, I guess people say."

Vicca hesitated a moment, then she very timidly offered, "If—If you ever want to try again, I could get her ready for you."

I didn't quite understand her meaning; my face probably showed it.

She explained, "After I wash her up, I could dress her in something special, and I could do her make-up and perfume. I'd put her hair any way you liked it."

I was quiet because I was imagining Denise, laying in our bed with that vacant, expressionless stare, but all done up like our wedding day. I didn't like the thought, but before I could say so, Vicca went on.

She said, "I could shave her legs for you, and—and anywhere else you might like me to shave."

I stared at my daughter.

Vicca continued, "And I can make sure she's prepared for you down there, make sure she feels right to you-on the inside I mean."

I could not believe what I was hearing.

Finishing, she said, "And when you're done, Daddy, I can clean up any—any mess. Get things back right."

I kept quiet until I knew she was done. Then I said, "Vicca, I don't think those things you're proposing will solve the real problem—that your momma, my Denise, isn't really here anymore."

"But will you think about it, Daddy? Just a little bit?"

"I don't see as there's any more thinking to do, but since you ask, I guess I will."

***

I didn't think about it for a second. What I wondered about was why Vicca cared enough about the situation to ask. I never did think of an answer to that.

Put crudely, I suppose Vicca's implied question was whether her Daddy was horny.

Appropriate or not coming from my daughter, was I?

Awfully so. Yes.

I hadn't felt that leaden, dead-weight heaviness in my nuts since before Denise and I married. Even when she had her monthly, she made sure I was satisfied. Even when she was pregnant, we took care of each other's needs. Even when I screwed up and created a ruckus between us, even then she would put the argument or the disappointment aside for a spell to share her body with mine.

I was going on two years without her. Yeah, I was looking at things differently.

There was little respite from the craving for flesh on flesh contact. Every day I woke up and went to bed longing for sex with a responsive woman. My labors on the ranch took my mind off of it, but only briefly.

As to Vicca's labors on her Momma's behalf, every week I tried to give my girl two full days off. I would spend those days with Denise, mostly watching tv in the bedroom with her or reading a book out loud between getting work done around the house.

I didn't mind taking care of Denise. When I smelled that Denise had messed herself, I'd clean her up. At mealtime, I fed her the pureed vegetables and bone broth she could manage to keep down. Most nights I slept in my oldest boy's former bedroom, but when I was on Denise duty, I slept beside her in our old bed.

When I took care of Denise, Vicca made the rounds on the ranch for me and then had her nights off, but she rarely went out.

So, on Vicca's first day off after our strange conversation, my daughter didn't ask, she just went ahead and did.

I worked the ranch all day, ate dinner, and returned to the pasture in the evening to tend to a sick weaner calf. I rolled in at dusk—around eight o'clock that mild June evening. Vicca was in the kitchen, finishing the dishes when I said, as I always did on those days, "You're free, Vicca. I've got the ball."

"Thanks, Daddy. Give Momma my love." She always said that.

"You know I will," I said. I walked upstairs, showered, and went to Denise.

I opened the door and stopped at the threshold. My hand remained wrapped around the knob. I was stunned.

Denise was in a pink, silken babydoll negligee. I had never seen it before. I could see the back of her head, and her hair was done up in piles of curls atop her crown not unlike how it had been arranged on our wedding day. The room was filled with the scent of Denise's special occasion perfume, a mellow floral aroma.

My wife was on all fours.

In disbelief, I walked into the room, keeping my distance from the bed. Moving to a sideways view, I saw that Denise was supported underneath by a strange, angular pillow. The side of her face nestled into one of her own pillows, and she was facing me.

She wore lipstick. Her cheeks were pink with blush. Her eyes were highlighted with eyeliner and her eyelashes thick with mascara. In short, Denise's face made it seem like a night on the town for us.

I walked to the bed.

My wife had been arranged on the angular pillow in such a way that her knees were spread wide apart. The lower hem of the negligee barely covered her buttock.

She looked like a woman awaiting her lover, ready for him to take her from behind.

I felt my heart begin to thump. My breath grew shallow in my throat. In my pajamas, my cock began to force open the front slit.

I swallowed a lump, pinched the lower hem of her babydoll, and raised it. Her pussy glistened.

I groaned at the sight of it. A wet pussy was one of my favorite things on this Earth.

Vicca spoke. She was at the door.

I didn't hear what she said. I didn't care.

I leaned toward my wife's vagina, closed my eyes, and inhaled her aroma. It was bliss, that smell. I spread her wide with my thumbs and tasted her with my lips and tongue.

Lapped in a whirlwind of desire, I climbed onto the bed behind her and dropped my pants to my hips. Then, I guided my cock to Denise's pussy and fed it into her.

The sensation of being inside of her again after two interminable years was dizzying. My head fell back, and I growled at the ceiling of our bedroom.

I clutched my wife's hips, and I fucked her in a frenzy of lust. I heard our bodies slap together, and I know I was grunting at the exertion.

I could not have lasted very long. I plunged one last time inside of her, and I held in place, feeling my body fill her pussy in bursts. I roared with satisfaction as the feeling hit its sharp peak.

Then, it ended, and I stared down at Denise's ass in my hands and the place where our bodies joined so perfectly.

I drew back from her and my cock emerged—shining and still obscenely erect. It snapped up and wobbled for a moment.

I stepped off the bed and turned around, still staring at my cock, in disbelief as to how satisfying it had been to fuck Denise again.

When I looked up, Vicca was at the doorway, leaning against it with her eyes averted.

I yanked up my pajamas and spun.

She said, "I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean to watch. I just—I didn't think it was going to work and—and it happened so fast."

Still breathing heavily, I said, "Doggone it, Vicca. I didn't mean for you to see that."

"But did I do good for you?" she asked.

I nodded.

Vicca said, "While you clean up, I can take care of Momma."

"No. You shouldn't. Let me."

"I want to," she said.

I thought about it. I was exhausted not just from the sex, but from the day of work. I nodded to Vicca.

"Okay," she said, and I heard her footfalls towards the master bathroom door.

***

As I cleaned myself in one of the boys' old bathrooms—now mine—a pang of guilt struck me.

That Vicca had seen it, I forgave the moment I found out. She was right; it had happened quickly. I didn't realize how much I needed it.

That I had used my wife's inert body to gratify myself stung me a bit.

Yes, she had looked beautiful.

Yes, she had smelled wonderful.

Yes, seeing her body in a little negligee had brought back so many memories.

And, yes, smelling and tasting her pussy again—even with whatever lubricant Vicca had applied—had filled me with unstoppable desire.

But, Denise was not herself. She was a limp body.

I quickly dressed and went back to Denise's room.

She was on her back, legs spread. Vicca was between her Momma's legs, sitting on her heels. There was a waterproof sheet with a hand towel under Denise's vagina. A spray bottle and washcloth sat upon the hand towel.

Vicca didn't notice me. She rubbed her thumb and index finger together. There was some substance between.

Is that what I think it is? I asked myself.

Vicca smelled her fingers, and she sampled them with her tongue.

I blinked, astonished.

She tasted it again.

I turned and left, unsure of how to confront a situation like that one.

***

I could not read to Denise that evening. I sat on the rocking chair beside her bed and turned on the television, but I didn't watch. I thought.

At eleven, Vicca came into the room, per usual, to wish me good night. She seemed shy, and she turned to leave the moment she finished speaking.

"Wait, Vicca," I said.

"Yeah?"

"Sit down, please."

She sat at the foot of the bed.

I muted the television and looked at my daughter. She was a pretty one. Her eyes were large and doleful. Her thick, pouting lips quivered. The skin of her round face shined with youthful abundance. The end of her long, dirty-blonde ponytail trembled. She was nervous, but she waited for me to speak.

"About tonight," I began, but I never finished.

"I'm sorry I watched, Daddy. I know I shouldn't have."

"No, Vicca. It's not that. Let me finish."

She sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and nodded anxiously.

I said, "I appreciate your efforts to—to bring your momma back to me tonight."

"You're welcome, Daddy. I wanted to help."

"I know you did. I know it. But, the thing is I don't think we ought to do it again. I don't think your momma..."

Vicca shook her head vigorously. "No, Daddy. Momma always told me. She said..."

"Your momma," I said doubtfully, "told you how to fix her up for me in the event she had another stroke?"

"Well, no, Daddy. Not like that. She taught me things. She explained to me how a woman takes care of her man, and I was only doing for you what she taught me."

"What did your momma teach you?" I asked, and I really had no idea. I was never privy to the home-schooling. I didn't know her curriculum. I didn't know to what extent sexual or marital matters factored into it, and I felt another pang of shame for never inquiring.

"Momma said her body belonged to you, always and forever. She told me a wife must never deprive her man of her body—that a man can lose his way unless his wife surrenders her body to him, and the same for him to her."

As Vicca spoke, I began to feel lightheaded. My lips grew dry. I listened to her and watched her as if she weren't even really there in the room with me, as if she were some young, full-bodied beauty on a television screen.

But, she was there. I felt her warm presence on my very skin. It tingled as if her voice was a light massage.

"Go on," I said.

Vicca swallowed and continued. "Yeah, so you see if Momma promised her body to you and yours to her 'til death do you part, it's only right that you should be able to be with her."

"What else did she teach you?" I asked, dizzy with the sound of Vicca's voice.

"Well, she also said a wife must be in love with her husband's penis just as the husband loves his wife's vagina. She said that when I was on my monthly that I should always offer the pleasures of the rest of my body to my husband."

"The rest of your body?" I asked, and I felt like the words were on a page in my mind that I was reading out loud.

"My mouth, my breasts, or my hands or anywhere else that might give my man pleasure."

"What did your momma say about a man's pleasure?" I asked, taking in Vicca's body with eyes not my own anymore—not a father's eyes.

Her breasts were heavy, slumping bulbs. They hung from her body like overripe fruits grown pendulous with their sweet juices. They looked vulnerable, ready to plummet if they weren't clutched immediately.

Her entire body was the same way. Her legs were shapely in a plump way—thick and round, filling out her jeans and not leaving space for many creases. Her arms and her tummy were stout and soft. But, I realized, none of it was squishy or jiggly—not yet. It was as if her skin hadn't had time enough to stretch out; it was drawn taut over the burgeoning voluptuousness underneath.

Vicca answered me. "Momma told me that my pleasure would come when I satisfied my man. She said my man would want to make me happy. And she taught me to treasure my man's semen, that I should cherish it as his special gift to me, that I should want his semen wherever he decided to give it to me."

She went silent, and my mind reeled as it considered her words. I had nothing to say.

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you not like it because Momma doesn't move or talk to you?"

I barely heard her question. "Yeah," I said vacantly. "Maybe."

Vicca adjusted herself, moving slightly towards me and glancing at her momma. "Because," she said, "because I could help her move—if you wanted, I mean. I could say the things she would say, you know, for her."

Her face was full of earnestness and innocence. It was like a doll's face, tumid with baby fat and full of amazement at the world. Vicca, I realized, was an incredibly desirable girl.

"Yeah," I dreamily responded, my eyes lingering upon my daughter's tits.

Vicca's tits? I thought. No. No-no-no.

I snatched a breath as if waking suddenly, blinked twice, and directed my gaze at her face again. I said, "Vicca, no. No, I don't—I cannot do that again."

Vicca drew back from me a bit, surprised at the abruptness of my change of mind. She said, "I thought you liked it, Daddy."

"I thought I did, too, at first."

"Your body needed it," Vicca argued.

"No more, Vicca, please."

"But, I'm worried, Daddy. I worry about your penis."

Her last utterance was so strange to my ears, yet delivered with such openhearted anxiety, that I couldn't speak.

Vicca explained, "Momma said a man's penis is like a cow's udder. It needs to get its regular milking or bad things happen. She said if I don't milk my man's penis, then just like a cow, he'll grow uncomfortable and sore, and he'll get irritable and make bad decisions. She said it puts the family and the whole ranch at risk when a wife neglects her husband's penis."

"Vicca, didn't your Momma teach you that nature has other ways of making sure none of them bad things happen?"

She nodded. "She told me about the special dreams and the masturbating, Daddy. But she said that once a woman has harvested her man's seed, it is best for the man if his woman always does it from then on."

"That may be so, but it doesn't matter. I oughtn't be with your Momma that way, so no more talk of this."

"Okay."

"One more thing before you go," I said, and I sighed because I had no idea how to begin. I shook my head and asked, "Did you—did I see you tasting my semen tonight, Vicca?"

Her face went pink, and she looked at the floor and nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." She looked up at me shyly. "I was just curious is all. It wasn't so different from when I saw Trenton with Momma's panties."

Trenton is one of her brothers. I hadn't known about the panties, but it didn't surprise me. I sighed. "The point is..." I didn't know what the hell the point was. I said, "The point is good night."