Mother's Ghost Ch. 01

I sat at the front of the church, my eyes fixed on the floor in front of me like a guilty child in the principal's office. I could feel the stares of funeral guests behind me burning into my back. A slideshow of photos of my late wife Rachel played on the screen at the front of the church, each one seeming to glare at me accusingly. At the front of the church, standing beside her closed coffin, was a large photo of her, showing off her six-month pregnant belly, a reminder of both innocent lives whose deaths I was responsible for.

It had been three weeks since my wife, home early from her Bible study, had walked in on me dumping a thick load of incestuous cum onto our youngest daughter's breasts. I remember that terrible moment so vividly. Time seemed to slow down as we locked eyes while my cock continued to spurt. It was so quiet I could actually hear the ropes of cum splatter against Tatiana's skin.

She said nothing, just bolted out of the house and drove off in the decades-old car she'd inherited from her father Robert. I could hear her tires squeal in the driveway. That was the last time I ever saw her. A police officer came to our door to inform us of her death. To my shame, my first reaction was not grief or guilt, just relief that my affair with my daughter would not be revealed.

That nineteen-year-old daughter sat to my right now, holding my hand. I glanced to my right and met her eyes. She took my hand and gave me a comforting smile.

I couldn't help but admire her beauty. Her brown skin showed her mother's half-Latina heritage, but that was where the similarities ended. Even when pregnant, Rachel had been a slender, bony woman, all edges and hard angles. Tati's young body, on the other hand, was blooming into a beautiful curvy hourglass figure. Her black funeral dress, while modest, couldn't hide her beautiful curves of her breasts and hips.

Beyond her sat her two older siblings, twenty-four-year-old Vincent and twenty-seven-year-old Allison. Allison had a job and an apartment in another city but Vincent had just graduated and would be moving back home until he could find work, giving Tati and I even less time alone together. I wasn't looking forward to that.

After the service and the burial, we returned home. Vincent adjourned to his bedroom and buried himself in games and music. Allison stayed downstairs, stress eating. I went upstairs and stood outside the room we'd prepared for the baby, complete with a crib and a playpen.

As I looked into the room of a baby who would never be born, I felt ashamed of my lack of sadness. I only felt relief. I had emotionally moved on from my marriage to Rachel months ago. My daughter Tati was more my wife than she was now.

I felt a soft, small, familiar hand take mine. I saw Tati next to me, taking my arm and resting her head on my shoulder.

"What are you thinking, Daddy?"

I only gave her a sad smile, unwilling to voice the shameful thoughts in my head. How could I tell her that I wasn't sad that her mother and unborn brother had died?

"Come on. I think we both know what we need." And she pulled me into the master bedroom, locking the door behind us.

I took her in my arms, my hands on the curve of her black skirt, and kissed her soft full lips. She responded by pulling me closer, pressing her breasts against my chest. My hands reached under her skirt.

"You wore a thong to the funeral?" I whispered. She only gave me a wicked smile. "You skank." We shared a quiet giggle, careful not to alert her siblings outside.

She hiked her skirt up, revealing her round, tanned ass in all its glory. She bent over the bed. My pants hit the floor. Mere hours after burying my wife and unborn child, I was about to fuck my own daughter in the dress she wore to the funeral!

I took my place behind her and put my hands on her hips. Her pussy isn't all that wet. My cock is only semihard. I don't insert it, I just grind it against those magnificent brown globes, smearing them with precum.

Neither of us were all that horny. It was the sexual equivalent to stress eating. We just needed something to pass the time, something to take our minds off what had just happened. We just needed intimacy.

"Tell me something, Daddy," she said as she ground her ass against my crotch. "And be honest. I won't judge you. Are you sad about Mom and the baby?"

I bent over so that my chest is on top of her back and my lips right by her ear. Quietly, as if I was trying to hide my answer from God Himself, I whispered, "No."

She grinned back at me as she wiggled her ass playfully against my cock. "Neither am I."

Those words changed the mood completely. I no longer felt guilty. I no longer had anything to hide. Our inhibitions, both physical and emotional, collapsed. My half-hearted erection grew to its full eight inches.

I pulled her thong down, grabbed her hips, and thrust in quietly but powerfully. As I begin thrusting inside her, I ask semi-sarcastically, "You don't feel bad at all? Not even for the baby?"

"Fuck no!" she answered as she thrusts back against me, her ample asscheeks clapping against my belly. "We'd have even less time to do this with a crying little shit machine in the house!"

I feel my overproductive balls filling with babybatter. There is no more guilt, no more shame. We revel in our wickedness, two terrible people breaking every rule of decency. We weren't just fucking after my wife's death but fucking in celebration of it! We were monsters, two of a kind!

We lost ourselves in passion. We forgot the house had two other people in it. I fucked her like an animal finally finding a mate of its own species after years of loneliness.

"I hope that bitch is in Hell," Tati said. "I hope she's watching her daughter fucking her husband's cock right now! I hope she can see you fill me with the baby that should've been hers! I hope she can watch...me...CUM!!"

"Oh SHIT!" My first massive rope, laden with millions of eager babymakers, escaped my cock and filled her womb. Two more ropes joined it before I thought to pull out, spurting the remainder of my load onto my daughter's ass, the back of her dress, and her hair.

I pulled out and collapsed beside her, holding her hand as we both caught our breaths.

We were startled from our afterglow by a crashing noise. A photo of Rachel, probably loosened by the violence of our lovemaking, had fallen from the wall and crashed on the floor.

Soon we heard a knock on the door. "Dad?" Allison called. "Is everything okay? I heard something break."

We jumped out of bed and made ourselves decent. "Yes! I called desperately. Yes, it is."

I opened the door. Tati faced her sister, wiping her dry eyes in a facsimile of a grieving daughter. We knew that if she turned her back, it would reveal the massive cumstain I'd left there.

"A picture fell off the wall," I told her. "Don't come in!" I said as she tried to come in. "There's broken glass. I'll take care of it."

"OK." Allison walked back to her room. Tati smiled and mouthed "Thank you" before following. I watched her leave, admiring the massive cumstain I'd left on her funeral dress.

I bent to pick up the picture, a photo of Rachel posing by the car she'd driven the day she died, only to get a chill when I looked at it. Rachel had never been an especially warm woman, but I definitely remembered her smiling in this photo.

Now all I could see was a cold, accusing glare.