The Historian

Then I CAME. So hard, so damn hard. I forgot to breathe, and my vision went red at the edges. Pulsing my spermal jism so deep within her. Trying to make my cock come out of her mouth. I failed, but not from lack of spurting and yelling and thrusting.

She was a world-class lay. She was my daughter. I was her lover. I was her father.

As the madness left me, I mentally gave my lover's soul back to her, and let go my ownership of her body ... until the next time. I swore to myself that there would be a next time. Lots of next times.

I held her there, as my cock softened. It couldn't fall out, because she was still clasped tightly to me, legs locked in a death-grip to my hips. Eventually, her eyes re-focused, and she stopped gasping and moaning. It took quite a while.

It'd only seen that performance once before, and that was on one of my special porn videos. Now I had it in person. And I was certain, absolutely sure, that I'd get it again, soon.

Slowly, like a young willow tree bending over in the wind, Sophie fell forward, and lay flat on me, breasts pushed together, still on top. Her breath came in shudders.

She said, after long minutes, "what did you DO to me? The last time that happened, it took five guys to get me there. You did it by yourself. You're a fucking magician."

Whispering to myself, I remembered, and echoed, "five guys." She thought I'd asked a question, though I hadn't, and said, "yeah, Dad. Five men. One right after the other. After number two, I don't remember much, except that the orgasm went on, and on, and on. Just like now. My tits hurt for a week, after all that mauling. You're gentle. My tits feel fine, wanna see?"

She reared back on her elbows, perky tits shoved out, and pointed right at me. So I reached out with my head, and sucked one onto my mouth, and pulled hard on the distended nipple, wetly roughing the nipple with the flat of my tongue.

"Oh, Dad, you're good! They're so sensitive, go easy. Stop, I can't take any more." She rolled off my body, and sprawled artlessly on the other side of the bed, legs sprawled out and body fully displayed.

I was down for the count, but that didn't stop my eyes, so I visually feasted on her, for several minutes.

"How did you ever learn to do all that, and still work at MegaCorp? I'd heard they were a straight-laced set of corporate types. You told me a bit about them in a couple of your letters, the ones I kept from Mom."

Sophie's eyed started a nervous shifting, just like she was trapped, although she wasn't. She fluttered her hands and shifted her hips, muttering, "Oh, uh, MegaCorp, yeah, well, I ..."

After some few minutes of this, I teased, a little, saying, "You mean you do this sort of stuff after hours. One of the old executives maybe paying the freight for my little girl?"

Somehow, lying on the bed naked, her father's semen leaking out of her pussy lips, between her thighs, she managed to look offended. She grimaced up at, as her hand slipped around my limp and floppy penis, starting to stroke. "Dad, I've never had one of those old guys. I've never sold myself for money or favors!"

Her lips crinkled, just a bit, as she answered herself, "well, not for money or 'favors,' but, yeah, there might have been a few 'dates' with older guys that wound up in the sack."

Then she seemed to come to a decision. She slithered upright, to set in a semi cross-legged position, facing me on my well-used bed. Ah, didn't she look so beautiful there, tummy crinkling just a bit, with her smallish boobs quivering and dancing with each breast ... I mean breath. So I'm a boob man, so sue me. I stared at her, my glance flicking between her hair-framed face, her breasts and her spread-open pussy lips, still drooling thick heavy globules of my semen.

Her eyes followed mine, and Sophie grinned that 100 watter, again. "Ah, Dad, look what you did to me. Twice in one night. And it's still dark. Dad, I really loved it."

Then she added, suddenly serious, "Dad, just hold me. I ... I've ... Well, oh shit, damn, damn, damn, this isn't going the way I thought it would. I, uh ..."

I took her chin in my hand, and looking right in her eyes, said, "start at the beginning. You were going to reveal something to me. Probably embarrassing. Probably sexy, too. OK, look down at yourself. What are you leaking between your legs? Yeah, that stuff. You just made love to your father, twice. Now you're undressed, sitting up in my bed, and bare-ass-naked, still. I really liked what I did to you, and I want to do it again, just as soon as my old bod lets me. In the meantime, I'm gonna look, and touch, and kiss."

I finished, "so whatever you're embarrassed about probably isn't as serious as having my incest-driven cock inside you, or you cuming around it more times that we could count. Out with it, pretty girl. What you want to tell me?"

Sophie took a deep breath, and said, looking right at me, a little smile playing around her lips, "I'm not a secretary. I don't work for MegaCorp. I've never worked there. I'm a porn star. I fuck on film. I fuck a lot on film. I've had hundreds of guys up inside me. I love it. I'd do it for free if I had the money. But I pay my bills, and my car's gas ... on my back ... or knees ... or swinging from a trapeze ... or out in the desert, bent over a hot rock, getting banged by three guys ... you get the picture."

I feigned horror and shock, pretending to gasp, "Oh, the horror. The shame. My daughter, forced to prostitute herself on film. To have thousands of unknown men drooling and jerking off over her nude body, while she squirms in unintentional rape." I pantomimed an expression of open-mouthed amazement, and threw my hand up to my forehead, the very model of neo-Victorian prudery.

Sophie giggled. "You look like an ass, lying there naked with your hand on your forehead, and your cock still slimy with my stuff all over it. And no one's 'forced' me, ever, 'cause I give it up real easy."

I sat up, and smiled at her. Really smiled. Then, reaching over, I opened the drawer beside the bed, and uncovered the little portable color TV-VCR combination, with the DVD attachment. I gestured for her to look inside.

She bent over, and then pulled back, exclaiming, "Dad, you have porn tapes and DVDs right next to the bed. What are these?" she asked, holding up a bunch of square rags with holes in the middle. I explained, "well, uh, ah shit, these are what I use when I jack off. That's the only relief I get lately. My cock fits the hole, and the cloth catches the jism. But Sophie, look at the titles."

She peered more closely at my 'special collection.' Then she squealed, and turned around to me, growling, "you've got ALL my scenes." She dug through the containers. "You got all the compilations. You've got the girl-girl shots. The anal shots. Even my screen test. They said they'd never show that one in public. You fucking old pervert! You've been jacking off for years to your only daughter, as she fucked herself silly on tape."

She continued to paw through my collection, exclaiming, "you dirty old man! Here's my gang-bang DVD. Damn, the cover's nearly worn off. How many time did you play this nasty bit?"

I admitted to about a half-dozen times, just this month. She continued, "My own father watched his only daughter get reamed out by five sexy studs, three times each, in an all-day fuck session, with all of them giving me a cream-pie internal cum shot party. You saw me standing in the bedroom, five guy's jism leaking out of my red, swollen cunt. You watched me scream and cum, over and over, until you wore holes in the package. My old pervert fucker Dad, seeing his daughter fuck herself to fame and fortune, and getting a cum bath, three times in a day. How could you?"

So I showed her how I could, taking my limp dick and trying to shove it through a hole in the rag, and then try to jerk it off, while watching her, sitting cross-ways on the bed. Oh, I wanted to get hard, but there just wasn't any length to be had.

Sophie grinned, in spite of her outrage, saying, "so you KNEW I wasn't with MegaCorp, all this time. You knew I was fucking on tape for a living. I thought I had you and Mom fooled. Why, you old bastard?"

"Well," I replied, quietly, "it was to keep you safe from your mother, after what she did to you, the day you ran away from home. And it worked. Dolores kept trying to get you fired from MegaCorp, by spreading her phoned-in and written lies, and the puzzled officials there kept writing back, saying they didn't have anyone by that name working there. Eventually, as I found out, they just referred her letters and calls to the Company psychiatrist. He got a couple of papers published out of her attempts to get you fired."

Sophie looked at me seriously, saying, "Dad, you really did know what Mom did to me that day?"

"Yeah, honey, I pieced it together, but it took a while. All I knew then was that I had to get you, body and soul, away from your mother, and it had to be done quick and fast."

I went on, "It was something about Mom and Hobart, the bank manager, that day, I think."

Sophie's face screwed up, as she remembered. "Dad, Mom took me up to the bank to deposit my babysitting money in my new account. She and Hobart started talking together, head to head, whispering. Then she told me to come after her, into the vault, and Hobart pulled the vault door almost closed. Then, no warning, he unzipped himself, and held it in his hand, grinning. Mom grabbed my arms behind my back, kicked my legs out form under me, and held me down on the floor. Hobart got down on the floor on his knees, and started to pull my legs apart. He was gonna rape me, right there in the bank, and Mom was helping him."

"Mom was squealing, and giggling, and telling Hobart how much he was gonna like what he's going to get. They forgot I was on the gymnastic team, at school. So I kicked out, and got that bastard right in the balls. Then I threw myself over backwards, right out of Mom's grip, came back up, kicked Mom hard once, folded myself into a ball, and rolled to the vault's door. I was still a little skinny, and I wiggled out the opening. Then I stood, and I leaned against the vault door as hard as I could, and I heard it shut, and click. The time-lock set, and I knew I had a few hours before they'd be able to get out."

"So I ran home, and found you there, just before you went off on one of your trips. Do you remember?"

I looked at her somberly, remembering. Sophie'd told me her story, and outrageous as it seemed, I believed her. We threw some things into a couple of pillowcases, and then I drove her to Mansfield. I picked up a used suitcase at a consignment store (so it wouldn't appear like this was her first trip away). I stopped at a bank there, and tapped one of my secret accounts, that Dolores didn't know about, since it was under an assumed name. I pulled out some cash, in big and small bills.

Then I took my only daughter to the bus station, and she got a ticket to somewhere. I didn't look when she bought it, and I didn't ask. This was so my daughter-raping slut wife couldn't weasel it out of me. I gave Sophie the money, which I insisted she split up around her person, stuffing it into her bra, in her shoes, and down her panties, leaving only a little for her battered purse.

I gave her what advice I could in a few minutes, about not talking to strangers, and about guys who's sweet-talk her into giving up her money and pussy.

Sophie interrupted, saying, "yeah, and I remember giving you the biggest, sloppiest, sexiest kiss I could, but they announced the bus loading, and then I couldn't. I remember you stand there, crying, as the bus pulled out."

She went on, "I'd bought a ticket just to Columbus, but when I got there, I knew I'd have to get completely away from Mom, no possibility of her following. So I bought a new ticket to Las Vegas. I don't know why I chose that city, I just did."

"So there I was, a 16-year old on the run, on a bus, bound for Sin City, USA. I dug through the little suitcase, and found that packet of more money, and your very best gift—the one that showed you'd been planning to get me safe and away—the beautiful, and probably very expensive fake ID, saying I was 18. New name, birth certificate, driver's license, social-security card and everything."

"By the time I got to Las Vegas, I'd made friends to a bunch of other girls on the bus, and we bounced off, to find an apartment to move into. Three of us got the apartment, and the other two got the car we all used. Two weeks later, everybody but me had a boyfriend, screwing them at night and on the weekends. I was on the Pill, and so one night Janet's boyfriend came in, and mistook me for her.

At least, that's what he said.

"We all got jobs in the casinos, or in the strip clubs. Your ID was perfect, and no one figured out I was underage. When I got to be 18 legally, I ditched the fake ID, and got a real driver's license."

She went on, "So, one night, a week or so later, I was at a party, and someone asked me about doing a fuck on video, for cash, and I said, 'sure, why not,' so I showed up the next day, masturbated and fucked on a screen test, signed a contract, and fucked in my first porn flick that afternoon. As soon as I saw the guy, big and hard and naked, I just melted, and I sucked his cock into my mouth, and a couple of minutes later, I was squealing and cumming, as he rammed his condom-covered cock deep in me, with the cameras going, and the lights in my eyes. I even loved it when, after four positions, he pulled out, ripped the rubber off, and shot his jism all over my face and tits."

"That," she finished, "was 20 flicks ago, and hundreds of men. Hundreds of hard, jizz-squirting cock ... and flowing pussies ... everywhere inside and outside of me. I still love it. I love the smell and taste of cum, and the way it feels inside, shooting out of a grunting man's cock."

Looking up, she grinned that 100-watt smile, and she said, "but what I love most is my Dad's cock, 'way up inside me, pushing and bursting with suppressed lust. And my Dad's voice, cuddling me here on the bed and on the couch."

Sophie snuggled into my arms, and I folded them around her. I felt the beginnings of a tingle in my groin, but decided that cuddles and comforting would have to come first. Always.

III

I was awakened by the flashing light and the brief blast of a siren outside. "Ah, no, here we go again," I thought, as I rolled over on my Sophie, and we crashed to the floor, covered with blankets. I heard some inarticulate shouting from outside. There were two blasts from a shotgun, coinciding with crashing and smashing of two more panes of glass from the living room. Then there was some more shouting, and the sudden crash-and-muffled roar of a fire-bomb going off in the living room.

Naked, I bounded down the hall, to find the room in flames. Grabbing up a big CO2 fire extinguisher I kept there, after the first time, I doused the flames, leaving only the stink of un-burned gasoline in the house. I looked up, to see the red, white and blue 'gumballs' of the local sheriff's car slowly moving off, the two occupants still shouting incoherently.

I heard Sophie come up behind me, gasping, "Dad, what was that? Somebody shot out two of our windows. They threw a fire-bomb inside. I saw the sheriff's car. Why didn't the sheriff arrest them."

Drawing a couple of calming breaths, I quietly said, "'cause it was the sheriff and one of his deputies who shot out the glass and threw the bomb. It isn't the first time."

Sophie, still nude, was quiet for a while, and said, "Dad, I don't understand. I thought you were liked here in town. Mom was the dangerous, crazy slut. You were the pillar that everyone admired. What's happened?"

I looked at her, smiling a bit, while I gathered my thoughts, and the said, "why don't you take a shower, while we still have hot water and electricity, and I'll get us something to eat. I've got to get dressed, at least a little, or we'll have fried balls in cock juice. For you, uh, clothing is, optional."

She smiled, really smiled, and said, heading for the bathroom, "Oh, I've got a couple of little numbers that I've been really thinking about wearing for you." Then serious, she continued, "and then, you old pervert, while you drool over my nubile body, you can tell me what's going on. That's an order!"

The water ran for some minutes, and that was followed by her voice, ordering me to come get clean, too. While I was in the shower, she must have searched through her two suitcases, because when I emerged, and toweled off, she was dressed.

Well, sort of. Sort of like she was more naked than when she was naked. She wore a just slightly, almost-not-there skirt, with the promised no panties, in an almost see-thru black lace. Fish-net thigh-highs. Bare midriff. And a crop top that nestled tightly under her braless breasts ("I'm a big B-cup, Dad."). A crop-top that was cut down to 'there,' apparently held up by a single straining-to-pop-loose button that didn't quite close the top ("well, Dad, there's some reinforcement in that area, so it won't come undone unless I want it to, but then just pull this little plastic pin and, WOOPS, there it goes."). Plus a set of 'fuck-me' strappy heels that tightened up her calves, thighs and butt.

My incestuous cock tried to jerk and fill, but I just couldn't. But as eye-candy, she was first-class European chocolate.

I just dressed in t-shirt and jeans, socks and tennies. First I nailed another two plywood pieces to the holes in the window, and swept up the broken glass, finishing with a light vacuuming. She took in the fact that I had plywood panels, nails and hammers ready to go, and 3 more big CO2 fire-extinguishers at the ready. She also took in the 2 video cameras I'd positioned: one aimed out at the street, and the other aimed inside the front room, where the fire had been. I took out the video disk from each, slipped it into a sealable pouch, closed and sealed it, and doubled the seal with dripped wax from a candle, pressed with my thumb-print. "Evidence, dated and timed," I explained, which, of course, didn't explain anything ... yet.

We ate in the kitchen again, a sandwich and milk. The last of the fresh milk.

Then Sophie quirked her eyebrow at me, and I had to say, "Kitten, it's a long story, so we'd better go over to the sofa." As she settled in, I went over to a nondescript section of molding, running vertically up the built-in book shelves, and pulled on it. Reaching inside, I extracted a sheath of papers, tucked in an envelope. I wordlessly handed these to Sophie, as I settled back on the couch.

My daughter and lover opened the envelope, and started to read:

-----

"To my ex-husband-to-be pile of shit:"

"This, my final letter to my long-suffering husband, is the last thing I'll write, until I see you and have the pleasure of cutting off your cock and balls myself. Honey, you've been just about the most perfect husband a normal wife would have wanted. I'm soooo sorry I just couldn't be normal."

"I wasn't a virgin when we married. I started having sex at 11. Sex was just sooo good, I wanted all I could get. There were so many men (and girls, too), I forget who they were. So I had to fool you. It was easy. I faked the bloodstains on the sheets on our wedding night with a packet of out-dated blood I bought at the Columbus blood bank. What a stupid dickhead you were. But that's all in the past, so let's just forget about it."

"Please forgive me. I have had lovers during our marriage. Some women, but mostly men. Many lovers. An army of lovers. Actually, I lost count again, years ago. Some just once. Others over and over and over. Doc Earnie said I had a cunt that reached right out and grabbed. Most were here in town, or around here. I can't remember all their names, except for a special few. I don't know why I never got pregnant then, or picked up a disease, but I just didn't."