Magnus and His Family

Her first touch of the thing sent a shiver through her: it wasn't at all what she had expected. Truth to tell, she didn't know what she really expected; but somehow the combination of stony hardness and the utter softness of the skin took her by surprise. This first contact with the male organ would have been overwhelming enough—but the fact that it was her own father's was almost too much to bear, and a wave of dizziness overcame her.

But she fought to retain her composure. Licking her lips, she began imitating her father's actions: they had been etched searingly into her brain from that fateful glimpse last Saturday, and she was certain she could perform the act in a way that would satisfy him. The actual morality of the act—the fact that what she was about to do would be regarded by most people as pretty abnormal, even repellent—somehow didn't enter into her consciousness. The overwhelming love she had for her father, and the sympathetic pain she had felt knowing that he was in such a state of longing for female attention, made it imperative that she give him the release he so desired.

As Magnus himself alternately gazed at his daughter's face and at her hand as it worked his large member, he was stricken dumb with shock and amazement; but he too failed to express the horror that this act would normally have incited. He had been nothing but kindness itself to Kristen, and as a result they had attained an indissoluble bond that overcame their occasional arguments and their temperamental differences. He now recognized her as a full-fledged adult who, for all her apparent inexperience with men, was fully capable of making her own decisions on what she wanted to do.

Kristen was now so fixated on bringing things to a completion that she began chewing her lower lip as if pondering some difficult problem in advanced algebra. She suddenly remembered one of her friends telling her that men really liked to have their testicles stroked; and as she looked down at the large sac hanging below the cock she was pumping, she reached out to touch it. Its texture, too, was strange but fascinating, and she stroked it with her long, thin fingers as she felt the two hard, marble-like balls covered by that thick layer of skin. Magnus's grunts deepened as she did so, and her heart swelled with pride as she sensed she was increasing his pleasure.

But most of her focus was on that long, thick shaft—it must have been at least eight inches, although of course she didn't have a ruler at hand to make a precise measurement! That's a lot longer than usual, isn't it? Recalling some girl friends bemoaning the inadequacies of their boyfriends in that department, she was dimly aware that most men could only boast an organ of about five or six inches. It didn't surprise her that her daddy was so much bigger: he was almost always at the top of his class in every aspect of life!

Now Magnus was clutching the blanket on either side of him with clenched fists, gazing raptly at his cock as if he was a mere extension of it. His breathing was getting ragged and irregular, and his tongue was sticking out a little from his mouth. For some reason Kristen had a sudden desire to paste a wet kiss on her father's mouth; but she realized that doing so would distract her from her central mission, and so she merely watched her father as his cock seemed to get even bigger and thicker under her hand.

And then, without warning, he came.

The stuff shot up like a geyser out of his aching organ—twice, three times, even a fourth. The first few went high into the air, landing all over her hand as well as on his belly; the last few simply bubbled out of that tiny opening at the tip and flowed over like lava onto her fingers. And it really was like lava: Kristen gasped at how hot it was, then realized that it had just come out of his body—a body that was probably close to a hundred degrees, given how red-faced he seemed at this moment. Magnus's eyes watched wide-eyed as each dollop of come burst forth from him, and a series of choking sounds emerged from deep in his throat as he then collapsed in utter exhaustion.

Kristen was reluctant to let that pulsing organ go; but as soon as she was convinced that the final drops of his emission had flowed out of him, she let the cock drop wetly onto his abdomen, where it lay like a languid snake. It didn't immediately get soft, as some of her friends had said it would; instead, it lay thick as before, a little clear liquid oozing out of the tip.

She gazed at her hand, now covered with fluid. God! she thought. This was the stuff that brought me into being! With a shudder, she reached behind herself to grab several Kleenex, wiping up the mess on her hand and also on her father's belly, lifting the cock with thumb and index finger: she suddenly felt reluctant to touch it now that she had performed her job.

Her father looked dazed and confused, but there was a goofy smile on his face. He was staring at her with inexpressible gratitude and love.

With just a hint of smugness she said, "Did you like that, Daddy? Did I do it right?"

Magnus took in an enormous gulp of air and said, "You were wonderful, darling. Just wonderful."

With that, she snuggled up next to him, letting him drape an arm around her back as she herself placed her arm over his chest, her head cradled in the crook of his neck.

Kristen could feel his chest rise and fall with the exertion he had just expended, but gradually it fell back to normal. She was wondering what, if anything, would follow this extraordinary and unexpected bout of intimacy. From her vantage point she could see her father's member quivering a little. That confused her, for one of her friends had been adamant that a guy couldn't "perform" more than once every twenty-four hours. Surely Daddy didn't want more already? But she wouldn't have been surprised if he had: he was clearly some kind of superman!

But it wasn't his own pleasure that Magnus now seemed to be concerned about; it was hers.

As they seemed to be resting comfortably next to each other, perhaps with the thought of just drifting off to sleep, he gently pried her head away from his neck and, with eyes that gazed lovingly on her, kissed her on the mouth.

The kiss lasted a long, long time, and she relished the feel of his whiskers as they rubbed against her chin and cheeks. She made so bold as to extend a hand up to his own face, and it wasn't long before her lips parted and he delicately inserted the tip of his tongue into her mouth. She tried to repress a shiver, but couldn't.

As she was trying to deal with the prospect of being French-kissed by her own father, she almost didn't notice the hand that had rested comfortably on the small of her back, but was now reaching farther down until it landed on her bottom.

She couldn't help letting out a soft moan. It was one thing for her to touch her own bottom; she did that a lot, and always found it stimulating. But now that a man—and the author of her being, at that—was doing it, she almost thought she was going to faint. But her father wasn't stopping there, although he seemed to find the texture of her bottom, even over her sheer nightgown, highly pleasurable. Instead, he seized the hem of the nightgown and forced it up to her waist, exposing her bare posterior to his touch. He gave out a little gasp, as if surprised he had uncovered her; perhaps he expected her to be wearing panties, although she hadn't worn panties under her nightgown for years.

Magnus gave those two round, firm cheeks a thorough examination with his large hand, gaining a full knowledge of their every contour as Kristen wriggled next to him. She suspected she might reach her own culmination just from this, but she dimly sensed that her father wouldn't be content until he had gone a little further.

And he did. With a calm, deliberate motion he slid his hand from her bottom to her belly, and then down to her delta, where he seemed to find a compelling fascination with the soft layer of fur that covered it. But, as Kristen continued to press her lips against her father's mouth, she felt that hand move inexorably toward the space between her legs, now utterly sopping with the moisture leaking out of her sex.

The first contact with her labia and clitoris seemed to Magnus just as overwhelming as her touch of his member was to Kristen. His stroking was inexpressibly delicate and tender, perhaps because he recognized that he was the first man to be so privileged as to have access to her most private area. At this moment, she wasn't his daughter, merely a young woman in the first flush of beauty and desire.

Kristen herself was in transports. She had done this countless times (more times than she cared to think about—but it just wasn't possible to control oneself sometimes!), but when someone else was doing it, she felt simultaneously empowered and helpless: empowered because she had inspired a man to service her as if he were her servant, and helpless because she endured the experience in a largely passive way, entwining her arms around her father's neck, burying her face in his shoulder (mostly so that her increasingly excited cries wouldn't be quite so audible), and receiving the successive waves of pleasure with inexpressible gratitude. Mostly, though, it was simply the exquisite and intense physical sensation that consumed her entire mind and body—and when the orgasm burst upon her, she expelled a series of choking gasps that couldn't be held back.

But then something strange happened: her climax kept on going, for minutes on end. Magnus, expertly gauging the onset of her paroxysm, lightened his touch a bit—but didn't stop it altogether. Instead, he continued his gentle stroking so that the orgasm kept on going—in a way that made Kristen almost collapse from excessive delight. Her vision blurred, she became dizzy, and after what seemed like an eternity, she was forced to shove his hand away lest she faint away altogether.

She rolled away from him, landing on her back and panting as if she'd run a marathon. Looking over to her right, she saw her father beaming at her with those piercing but gentle eyes.

"Oh, Daddy," she breathed, "that was incredible."

"I'm glad you liked it," he said in that deep bass voice that always made her feel like a little girl.

She wondered if anything further would occur on this incredible night. But just as she was contemplating with a shudder the ultimate act of union with a man, she heard him add:

"But now it's time to go to sleep."

A wave of disappointment washed over her, and she almost burst into tears. It didn't matter that he was her father and she was his daughter; she now longed for intimacy with him, and only him. Somehow she managed to say:

"Can I—can I stay here, Daddy?"

Magnus's expression became a little clouded, and Kristen was dreading the simple negative that he seemed on the verge of uttering. But to her immense relief he said, "All right."

He bent over and gave her a soft but lingering kiss on the mouth. That was the only contact he made with her before turning around and settling in for sleep.

He was still naked, and she thought she could remain awake all night staring at his wide, muscular back and broad cheeks of his bottom, which she could see outlined beneath the blanket.

But in fact, she fell asleep almost instantly.