Rhine Maiden Ch. 07: O! Papa!

At Number 416, Jens took the key, tipped the porter and said, "Thank you.

Mademoiselle no doubt is asleep. I'll take it from here so as not to disturb her." As he unlocked the room then pulled the folding bed across the threshold, he was grateful the hinges were quiet and the wheels did not squeak. He closed the door and stood still for several moments to allow his eyes to accustom themselves to the new darkness.

When his vision was better, Bjerke moved to the windows and parted the curtains. The night had cleared and starlight sparkled on the snow-covered window ledge as the waxing crescent moon shone brightly into the room. He shook his head slightly as he saw on the floor various strewn clothing articles. "Oh, Daggy, what would your mother think if she saw this mess," he thought.

Jens' daughter lay soundly sleeping on her right side facing him and the window with the sheet, blanket and duvet all pulled up close under her chin. Only her bobbed cinnamon hair, round pale face and dimpled apple-cheeks were visible to him. The heavy bedding obscured her so much that for a moment he had the illusion she was disembodied. He stooped and kissed her forehead sweetly.

Straightening up, Bjerke turned to go back to the roll-away and deploy it by the wardrobe. Even a few hours sleep would be a God-send. His long day in Zurich, followed by the two-hour train trip to Basel, had been more grueling than he had expected. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at Dagmar. "At least we can be good company on the plane tomorrow," he thought.

As quiet as the proverbial mouse, Jens set up the folding bed then hung his overcoat and suit in the wardrobe. Opening his suitcase, he retrieved his dark green silk pajamas. Once more, he glanced at Dagmar and saw she had not moved. Confident that she did not have in the back of her head eyes which were open when she slept, he stripped naked then hurried into his sleepwear.

Just as he pulled back his blankets to climb into the roll-away, Jens heard Dagmar softly call, "Pappa? Er du her, eller drømmer jeg?"

Bjerke's heart leapt into his throat. The Lycee's two week autumn school break had coincided with Dagmar's eighteenth birthday and while she was home she had masturbated him several times, but that truly was not why he was here now. Still, he saw how he had been foolish to think he would be undiscovered until morning light when he could explain his surprise appearance over croissants and coffee. In his panic, he cursed himself, "Dritt, du var dum! What can you say at this hour?"

Dagmar sat up and sleepily squinted at the shadowy man in room. "Kanskje Popo har kommet tilbake til meg," she speculated in her confounded mind. Aloud, she repeated, "Dad? Is that you or am I asleep still and dreaming?" As she leaned forward for a better look, her covers fell to her waist.

The moon cast erotic shading across Dagmar's full pale breasts. Jens screamed in his brain, "Gud i himmelen! She not only didn't hang up her clothes, she put nothing on to go to bed!" His needle-dick instantly pierced the loose vent in his green pantaloons. He wanted to shove it back inside but feared drawing her attention to it.

Jens had not reckoned on Dagmar's vantage point, nor the spotlight effect from the same moonbeams which illumined her ninety-four-centimeter E-cup boobs. Wide awake, and no longer thinking that Philippe might be back for a third helping of her donuts, she squealed excitedly, "Dad! I'm NOT dreaming. You ARE here and your cock wants my love!"

Before Jens could think, let alone act or speak, Dagmar bounded to the floor and had his skinny seventeen-centimeter erection in her fist. Her light laugh tinkled like windchimes as she teased, "Who's the 'handful', now, Dad?" Using his dick for a leash, she pulled him back to her bed saying, "Never mind. I'll show you!"

As Dagmar lay back in the warm mattress hollow that she had just left, Jens wondered if she thought he would be with satisfied jacking off between her tits and coming on her face. Maybe she did not realize how he had been grooming her to replace her cold fish mother. In the nine weeks since the Lycee's autumn recess ended and Dagmar returned to Basel, he had almost forgotten what her ripe body looked like. But, having been now reminded, fucking her senseless became his only agenda item.

Pouncing like a great cat on prey, Jens growled as he landed between Dagmar's wide-spread legs, "Nei! Jeg skal vise deg! Tonight I will make you a woman. MY woman!" Furiously, he yanked loose the drawstring tie on his pantaloons with his right hand while he scaled the silk over his ass with his left. As their bellies bumped, his arrow found its mark.

Dagmar clutched her father's deltoids, pulled his chest heavily down to her own, then slipped her hands over his pajama shirt to his concave glutes. Her shrinking cunt tugged his poker while he drove to her cervix and stirred her embers. She hissed into his left ear, "Ja, Pappa! Lær meg det! I am ready to learn EVERY thing!" At the same time, she silently thanked Philippe for his pre-emptive tutoring and remembered her promise to him.

Jens was too tired from his travels, and too excited by his sudden decision, to focus on controlling himself, or to wonder why his daughter's virgin fitte offered him no resistance. He was home and she was tight. He ground his pubic bone against hers, then pulled back and thrust forward again with all his might. His nuts exploded as they slammed into her.

Embarrassed, ashamed, happy, relieved and angry with himself all at the same time, Jens exclaimed into her hair, "I'm sorry, Sweetie!"

Dagmar did not know if her dad was referring to his premature ejaculation, the lovemaking itself, or something else entirely, but none of it mattered. She was happy to feel him inside her. She squeezed his bottom with her hands and his cock with her Kegels. With her own crisis still a long way off, she sincerely soothed, "It's alright, Pappa... we have time... just don't stop..."

Jens felt his final spurting seed blob burst through his slit. Despite his fatigue, he dedicated himself to staying the course and bringing Dagmar her satisfaction, too. He rocked his hips up and back, then swung them powerfully forward. Again, and again.

Dagmar was amazed and thrilled by how swiftly her soul-fire built. She dug her nails into Jens' butt then raked them upward, dragging his silk shirt against his ribs like she was scrubbing it on a washboard. She moaned and begged, "Ja! Mer, Pappa! MER!"

Jens chuffed, "I'll give you as much as I've got, Sweetie!" Then, centering his face over his daughter's he mashed his mouth to hers and Frenched her hard. His tongue was nearly as effective as his prick at bringing her to her cliff. She shuddered and sang mutely into his throat as her orgasm swept from her crotch to her crown.

Jens could scarcely believe it, but he felt another surge in his gut. His balls huddled in his scrotum and coerced another flotilla of swimmers to load up. An electric bolt burned from his cortex to his heels. With his joint jammed to its root, he miraculously pumped out twenty more milliliters of baby-making cream.

Dagmar kneaded Jens' back as her toes cramped. Her father's glaze warmed her through and through. She purred, "Takk, Pappa. Jeg elsker deg så mye."

Jens sighed into Dagmar's neck, "You're welcome. I love you lots, too, Sweetie. Now, let me get a little bit of sleep. We'll do this again before we leave. And all through Christmas, too, if you want."

Dagmar drifted into sleep herself, mumbling, "Ja... hele julen..."