Her Daddy's Dick Ch. 02

I took care of the belt. I slid out of my jeans and dropped my boxer shorts. Then, I used my big toes to pull off my socks.

I looked at Vicca. Her eyes followed my cock. She whispered, "I hope you don't mind me saying so, Daddy, but your penis is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

I didn't respond; I climbed over Denise.

Vicca's fingers slid down Denise's arms. She took her momma's hands.

I glanced down at Denise's breasts. The insides were greased up with something. I looked at Vicca.

She said, "I put some lotion there in between—for you and her."

I nodded, and then I reached down to cup Denise's breasts.

"No, Daddy. Momma's going to do it," Vicca said, and she raised Denise's hands, cupped her breasts with them, and brought them together for me. "Is that about right?" she asked.

I nodded, settled onto Denise's tummy, and guided the fat bulb into the shadowy line where her breasts squashed into one another. The lubrication made it easy; it coated the tip and the shaft, letting me slide through like butter on a hot pan. I saw the newly shining knob emerge out the top like a prairie dog out its hole.

Denise's breasts were much softer than Vicca's, as they should have been. They were so comfortable wrapped around my erection. Fucking my wife's tits again was like coming home to her beef stew after a long day with the cattle.

I plowed through again, and it felt so good I muttered, "Doggone, I love you, Denise."

Denise's eyelids blinked reflexively. Her vacant stare resumed.

Again, I was torn into three pieces. For some weeks now I had been in a darn near state of constant arousal. At that moment, I desperately wanted to fuck Denise's tits. I needed it. So, there was a part of me that insisted I continue.

Another part of me knew how wrong this was, and not so much because Denise was kind of somewhere else. It was more on account of Vicca. She'd grown too damn interested in my cock. She'd crossed the line, and in my weakness, I hadn't stopped myself from crossing it along with her. The second piece told me to stop.

The first side, the sex-driven side, argued that Vicca was just helping her daddy love her momma, and it was true.

The more rational side of me fired back that allowing Vicca into my wife's bedroom—again—to watch and even help Denise and I have sex was as wrong as two bulls fucking.

Then there was that third side—the observer, kind of. That part of me was amazed at the situation I was in. It wondered where in the hell things between my daughter and I would go from here.

The observer saw how keenly Vicca scrutinized the top of her momma's cleavage, and how Vicca's eyes filled with hunger when the knob of my cock popped out. The watcher also noted that I was just as excited by my wife's tits as I was by Vicca's nearness to my erection. This third piece of me knew that an unhealthy amount of my thrill was due to Vicca's uncovered breasts resting against Denise's naked back.

Still, I kept fucking. The seeds of a future climax sprouted within me. My erection felt more alive and more taut, like it was straining against my body to stretch further. It craved the feminine friction and wanted more.

Vicca's hands moved. Denise's fell away, and Vicca's strong little hands took control of her momma's breasts.

I glanced at Vicca. She said, "They were about to slip out. Easier this way, Daddy."

I felt the increased friction, and I closed my eyes and nodded. Dang, it felt good.

"You like it?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Are you gonna cum?"

I swallowed, wiped my brow, and nodded.

"Tell me when Daddy. I don't want to miss it."

"You won't miss it."

When Vicca first took hold of Denise's tits, Vicca's fingers cupped the underside and her thumbs went up the sides and pushed the breasts together. Without warning, Vicca adjusted her grip. In her new hold, Vicca's thumbs were horizontal, the tips pointed at each other, and pads of her fingers now pushed Denise's breasts together.

My cock plowed through, and I saw how Vicca's new grip put her thumb-tips just a hair's width from the bulb of my cock when it emerged.

When I saw this, I glanced at Vicca and she at me. She looked at me like a shoplifter at a cop. When I didn't say anything or stop, she turned back to my cock and licked her lips.

Vicca's thumbs inched closer together, and the tip of my cock grazed them.

I gasped.

The next time I pushed through, her thumbs caressed the top of the knob.

I drove my cock again, and Vicca thumbs stroked the shaft.

"Now, Vicca," I muttered through gritted teeth.

I thrust my hips one last time and held there as the surges hit their overwhelming peak. Vicca's thumbs began kneading and massaging the shaft.

I saw the first stream fire out towards Denise's chin.

Vicca immediately pushed her momma's left breast over, re-aiming my cock. She craned her head forward and extended her tongue.

The next jet landed just short of Vicca's mouth. She stretched and wriggled her tongue to reach it.

Her hunger for my cum was astonishing and thrilling. I went mad with lust.

Instantly, I rose up. I seized a wad of hair on Vicca's crown and pulled it back. She didn't complain; she just gasped and stuck out her tongue. Positioning my cock over her mouth, I stroked the remaining jets free, and they coated the inside of Vicca's mouth.

She gathered it and swallowed. Then her tongue unfurled, awaiting more. I milked a final drop free, and I wiped it on Vicca's tongue. She gulped it down with a hum.

I released her hair and stepped off the bed, doubled over by the force of my climax. Panting, I glanced at Vicca, watching her scoop my cum from her Momma's skin and feed it to herself.

Then, I looked at Denise. My poor Denise. Instantly, I knew I'd gone way, way over the line.

I roared, "Fuck!"

Vicca froze in shock. I don't think she'd ever heard me say that word.

Taking two deep breaths, I quietly said, "Vicca, this has gone too far, and I'm a fool." Seeing my wife's empty stare, I hollered, "Son of a whore!"

Vicca flinched backward. "Daddy, you're scaring me!"

After two more enormous gulps and sighs, I said, "I forgive you, Vicca, and I hope someday you can forgive me." Then, I snatched my clothes and left the room.

In the garage ten minutes later, I tinkered with my father's old International tractor. I'd gotten it to run, sure, but never quite the way I remembered it as a kid. It was my lifelong project, that old thing, getting it to fire up and sound the way it used to. In my childhood recollection, it was the best darn tractor ever built. I worked until I grew too tired to continue. Then, I went to my room and slept.

In the early morning with fresh eyes, I decided it was best to simply ignore what I'd done. Not that it didn't happen, but that it didn't matter. The whole thing with Denise and Vicca, it was a rainstorm in another county.

Vicca came down to the table about five minutes into my coffee. She was in a bathrobe, and she was holding a letter.

She said, "I heard you get up, and I wanted you to see something I found a few months back in Momma's lawyer papers."

She handed me the folded sheet.

I took it.

After the third stroke, I spent some time reading through the papers she and the attorney had prepared, but all that lawyer-speak started driving me nuts. I began seeing the same caveats and boiler-plate language over and again so that I just shoved them back in the drawer.

I don't remember seeing this one, and for good reason. It wasn't some computer print-off. It was in Denise's own hand.

Vicca said, "Back in May, I started looking through them, and I found a sealed envelope from Momma to me in there, Daddy. Two hand-written notes in it. The first was her kind of love letter to me, and it was beautiful and it made me cry. That one there was the second one, like an addition to the first."

I read Denise's handwriting.

***

Vicca, my heart,

There's one more thing I want to tell you, and it isn't easy to write about. It's about your daddy.

First, I want you to know he's been the perfect husband and a wonderful partner in raising six children, but I know he will suffer without me. If I die, he'll be too stubborn to remarry. If I turn into a vegetable (forgive me for being blunt), he won't divorce me. He'll be alone, and he's too proud to admit it and do something about it.

Your daddy, my love and my dearest, has fierce needs. I'm sorry if that shocks you to read. Without the companionship of a woman, I fear he will decay. I know we talked about these matters when you were younger, but if I'm gone, it becomes the real thing. The boys are getting on with their lives, and they can't advise your daddy (and he wouldn't listen to them anyhow).

It's you, Vicca. You're the only one who can help him.

What does that mean? On the one hand, it may mean you have to battle with him (and he will surely fight you over it) to find a new partner, a new me. Knowing you as I do, I wonder if you can do it. Not that you don't have the courage (you do), but that your love for the ranch will not allow you to invite another woman into the house.

If you can't allow another woman to take my place, then you (yes you, my heart), must take over as his helper and partner. You will have to find a way to love him not only as his daughter but as his woman, too. You must be free with your entire body and remember those lessons I taught you. Speaking from experience, if he lets you inside that hard shell of his, you will be richly rewarded the abundance and hunger of his love.

Our family and the ranch, itself, are at stake in this, Vicca. The decision is yours, and I know that you will make the best one.

Last thing, please keep the first note to yourself, as I asked, but if you and your father should come to a point of no return, you have my permission to let him read this one. He'll make a fuss about what I've written, but if you deem it necessary, then you may show it to him.

My love is always with you, my heart.

Denise (Momma)

***

I was moved by Denise's words.

But, Vicca was there. I decided that I didn't like the letter. I looked up at her.

Vicca stood proudly. Her arms were crossed. She said, "I am not just your daughter anymore; I am your woman."

Angered, I tossed the note on the table and rose. My voice grew louder as I went on. "I am not some kind of sex-crazed maniac, Vicca. I know I've made some mistakes here, fallen into temptation and such, but your saying you're my woman don't make it so. It's an insult to your momma up there! Now, you are gonna find yourself a man, and you're going to marry him, and you're going to get the hell out of this house! The sooner the better!"

"This is my home!" Vicca screamed with tears in her eyes, and she ran upstairs to her room.

I didn't follow her; I dumped my coffee into the sink and went to work.

***

Vicca and I didn't talk after that—other than about the business of the ranch and in as few words as possible. We even went through calving season, the toughest time of year on the ranch, without really speaking to one another.

It was an impasse. I wanted her married and gone; she wasn't leaving.

Those days between Thanksgiving and the middle of January were a challenge—being ready for births every hour of every day, pulling calves, moving them between lots, keeping them warm, grafting a discarded twin to a new mother, my gosh the list could go on forever. A person walks in a kind of daze through calving season.

Aggravating the general tension of the season was Vicca, who decided that since she was the woman of the house, she could dress as she pleased. When we weren't working, she would stroll through the house in tight shirts and pants or if it was nighttime, she would only cover herself in a mid-thigh bathrobe and slippers.

In the shadows of my mind, I wanted her.

But, I wasn't some foolish young buck. I was a wise old stag, and I knew the tactic. I would see it through. It made me angry that Vicca thought she could defeat me through teasing and deprivation.

By mid-January, we knew we had made it through another calving season. There was still much to do, but it would never be as challenging as those dark nights in December.

I was under assault. My body—my cock—felt like a bull in the rodeo pen. There was one of them pesky little riders on my back, and I was going to launch his ass and stomp his brains out. But that damned gate just wouldn't open.

I snapped at the hands almost non-stop. Always pissed off, I was. Two of them boys quit. One's daddy sent him back, and I grudgingly let him stay on.

On those rare occasions I spoke to Vicca, it was to chew her out for something. Anything.

But no matter what I said to her, it was like water off a duck's back. She acted like no opinion of mine mattered.

One morning, I saw one of the hands grab Vicca's ass in the calving barn, and when she looked at him with a smile and a laugh, I spun away. My first reaction was murderous fury. I was prepared to kill that kid on the spot.

Better yet, I thought, wrapping my hands around the emasculator, I'll castrate the little shit.

But a thought stopped me. I had told Vicca to get out, and this fella, Shane, was a pretty good hand with the cattle. This was a chance to get her gone and married.

I was still the bull in the pen, and the gate remained shut to me.

That afternoon, the kid came to see me and quit. He said he was going to look for a job out Cheyenne way. So in the evening, I called Vicca down from her bedroom. I couldn't even look at her she was so beautiful in her ponytail and nighty.

"Did you drive that kid out?" I asked.

"What kid?"

"Shane! He just quit!"

"He grabbed my butt, Daddy!"

I leaned into Vicca's face. "I saw it happen, and you giggled like a thirteen-year-old girl!"

She thrust her finger at her chest, hollering, "Yeah, I laughed, Daddy! I laughed at his dumb-ass way of treating a woman he don't even know or hardly talk to!" Her face went bright red, and she smiled, yelling, "What? You thought I'd marry some dickless ass-grabber? That the kind of man you want for me?"

I shook my head. "It ain't Shane, fine, but it's gonna be some fella. You're getting married, and you're leaving this house."

Vicca screamed in frustration. Her face was purple, and she shrieked, "This is my house!" with all the emphasis on "is." I watched her dash up the stairs, and I heard a bedroom door slam shut.

I stalked away, every bit the mad bull and feeling the tightness of that pen. In my mind, I was slamming my shoulder into the gate. I was planting my fore-hooves and slamming my hind ones into the walls.

I fought for control, and I never quite got it. Instead, a dark, quiet resolution settled upon me. I went up the stairs like a murderer, and I was going to go into Vicca's room and—and I don't even want to say what I was thinking on doing. In my madness, I thought it might be the way to get her gone.

At the top of the stairs, a sound stopped me. It was Vicca's sobbing. She was in Denise's room. I listened at the door.

"I can't do it, Momma! He doesn't love me! Not like you, he don't! I can't go on like this. I can't!" She bawled and sobbed, and she said, "I wish I was dead, Momma! I wish I was wherever you are! Or you come back! Come back to me, Momma! Help me!"

It was then I found my sanity again. I turned around and went back downstairs, not trusting myself, but trusting my Denise would comfort poor Vicca in her own way.

There was still that bull in the pen to think about, though.

***

The next morning, Vicca decided to start talking to me again. Inside, I was happy to see her being herself. But, on the outside, I was grumpy about it.

"I was going to make some bacon, Daddy. You want some, maybe with some eggs?" she asked.

I grunted noncommittally.

She said, "I'll just make you some then." She added several strips to the frying pan, and I looked her over. She had that long ponytail going, and she wasn't wearing her bathrobe, just her nighty and some slippers.

That other—that third person—whispered something to me. She wants you to check her out, he said, and she knows you're doing it right now.

Just then, Vicca shifted her weight, and it kicked out her butt. She used one foot to rub the back of the other knee. Then, she sighed, put her hands on the kitchen counter, and pushed herself to her tippy-toes. A moment later, she sunk, putting her elbows on the counter as if bored watching the bacon fry. She was bent in half.

The lower hem of that babydoll gown barely—and I mean barely—covered her. A doggone sixteenth of an inch higher, and I would have seen Vicca's pussy.

I saw the steaming coffee pot beside her, and I grabbed my mug. "Top off this coffee, " I muttered, rising from the chair and walking around the table.

Vicca didn't move.

I hoped she wouldn't.

There was just enough room for me to walk behind her to the coffee, but I had to feel her against me—had to.

I turned toward her and shuffled behind, letting my front graze against her back. Refilling my coffee, I went back to my chair the same way. She hadn't moved, so I got to drag my front across her butt twice. On the return trip, I kind of felt like she pushed back a touch.

Sitting down, I wondered if women got the same thrill men did in those situations. I never did think to ask Denise about it when she was with us. If I could have kept refilling my coffee every 10 seconds, I would have.

I spent the next five minutes staring at Vicca's ass, remembering what it had looked like when I scratched her back and wondering what she would do if I just came up and raised that frilly lower hem.

Over the next two days, Vicca tormented me with her body. The minute she climbed out of the shower after work, she was in one of them short baby dolls. She spent the mornings in them, too.

Out in the field, it was cold enough so that she had to cover herself, but she started working in her tight jeans—her "going out" jeans—as Denise had called them. That gorgeous ass of hers filled every nook and cranny. When she bent over or squatted, they tended to ride down and expose some of that precious flesh and a bit of that dark cleavage.

I hated myself for looking, but I always did. It pushed me right back to the edge. I was ticked off, snapping out orders and always finding something I didn't like about how things were getting done.

In the early afternoon of that second day of Vicca's full-on torment, I snapped. One of the hands mistagged a calf. I called together the entire crew, ripped their asses, and sent them all home.

They left and I fixed the problem. Then I walked into the calving barn, and I snapped again.

Vicca was there. After the hollering, she'd just walked away. I didn't know where she'd gone. I found her bent over the calf warming box, cleaning it out.

It needed to get done, but I wasn't thinking about that.

My eyes kind of locked onto her butt. I watched it move. Her ass was bashful and obscene at the same time.

She must have sensed me back there. She turned and said, "Oh, hey, Daddy."

I didn't say anything.

Vicca did a quick double-take; she knew I was looking.

I didn't care.

Continuing her work, Vicca rocked back and squatted. The top crest of her naked butt appeared.

She's teasing me, I thought. She's showing it off.

I was the bull again, and I started thrashing in that pen. I had to get out, and if they weren't going to let me out, then it was just about time to bust my way out.

Vicca stood and wiped her brow. Then she bent over.

The time was now. I walked to her. I took her hips and pulled her into my crotch with force.

She gasped.

I pulled her into me again.

She didn't say anything.

Again, I humped her ass. Again. I rammed us together, relishing in the feel of that big butt against me, even in those jeans.