The Legacy Pt. 01

I've seen that look, the one that my husband just flashed to our daughter across the breakfast table when he thought I was turned the other way.

In a few minutes I'll be leaving for a two-day visit with my best friend since childhood. Beth and I tell each other nearly everything, but I cannot share the developments of the last few weeks with her. Tonight, while we're eating at the Italian place she loves, I won't let on that I think my husband and daughter are in bed together, their naked, sweaty bodies tangled in the sheets. I would lay even money that their lips and hands will be all over each other before I clear the driveway, and neither of them will go to work today. My three hour drive will be filled with lewd images of my husband's face buried between our little girl's meaty thighs, possibly right here on this dining room table, like he hasn't done with me in a while.

Our daughter catches the shocked expression on my face and stares down into her cereal bowl, pretending to ignore my husband's leer. A smirk flickers at the corners of her mouth. She harbors no guilt. She's proud of herself.

Good. My plan is working.

Perhaps I should explain. Let me tell you a story...

It started innocently enough on a Saturday in July, after I graduated with a useless degree in literature. The best job I'd found was as a check-out girl at the grocery store. I was washing my beat-up old sedan in the front drive, strutting my colorful two-piece, idly hoping that one of my old high school boyfriends might drive by. Maybe they wouldn't notice how much heavier I was. It had been a while since I'd enjoyed a man's special kind of attention.

Dad came home from his golf game, wearing his lime green cotton pants and a yellow polo. As he swung around the far side of my car, his eyes flitted up at me with that 'don't you dare' look. I grinned and flicked the hose in his direction. He jumped back, laughing.

"Allie!" he warned playfully. "You'd better not."

"You look hot, Dad," I teased, and sent the stream a little closer. Too close. Some of the water hit his arm and spotted his shirt.

"Allison!" he yelled, flinging his hands.

"I'm sorry, Dad! I didn't..."

But it was too late. He furrowed his brow in mock anger and he started marching toward me, intent on revenge. My only weapon was the garden hose, and I had no choice but to aim it straight at him, full bore. It didn't even slow him down. In seconds he was on me, wrestling for the nozzle. He wrenched it out of my hands and sprayed me until I was just as drenched as he was. We hugged and laughed, and I squealed when he swatted my butt, telling me what a bad girl I was. Scooping a glob of soap bubbles from the bucket, he swiped it over the tip of my nose before he kissed it, like he often did.

He splish-sploshed off to the house through the open garage door on the side while I returned to the task at hand. Over the sound of the spray hitting the car, I heard Mom yell at him for something. So what else is new? She never gave him a break.

I needed some clean washrags. As I turned the corner into the garage, I stopped cold. Dad was standing by the steps leading up to the kitchen. His wet pants and underwear hung across the rail. He was naked from the waist down.

It was the first time I'd seen it, hanging thick between his legs. It swung heavy as he struggled to peel the soaked polo shirt over his head. He still didn't know I was there. I stared, unable to tear my eyes away from my daddy's penis and the pendulous, wrinkly sac dangling behind it. I'd enjoyed a fair number of them - some larger, some smaller - but this one was different. There was something magical about it. This was the fountain from which I sprang, the source of me. I felt its irresistible tug, like iron to a magnet, and in that moment, I knew that I needed to touch it, to drink from it, to hold it within my body.

Dad squirmed out of the wet shirt. His eyes and mouth flew open when he saw me, and he scrunched over, crossing his hands in front of his prize, muttering a weakly reproachful, "Allie!"

Then his eyes drifted downward. That's when I realized that my fingers were thrust deep inside my swimsuit bottoms. My other hand was draped across my chest, squeezing a little cloth-covered mound.

Neither of us moved. With a seductive smile, I began playing with myself again while my daddy watched. Gradually, he relaxed, slowly standing upright. Nothing in my life was quite so exciting as the sight of my naked father's soft tumescence as it began to rise, growing proud and potent. He began pulling on it slowly.

I was nearly ready to pounce on him when I spied a moving shadow through the kitchen door window. I jerked my hand out of my suit and ran back outside. Only seconds later I heard Mom yelling at him, "Heavens, George! Why are you lollygagging in your birthday suit like that? What if the neighbors saw you? Your daughter is right outside! Do you want her to catch her father buck-naked? That would traumatize her for life, especially with that ugly thing of yours sticking out like that. My heavens, George, sometimes I think I married a complete idiot."

That woman could be a real bitch sometimes.

Before I even finished washing the car, I became obsessed, consumed with a single purpose. That night I began dieting again, skipped Mom's pecan pie a la mode, and took the first of what became daily two-mile walks. I had never been one of the 'pretty' girls; I was always overweight, with a flabby butt and sad little boobs. While I had abandoned earlier attempts at getting in better shape - ice cream is the antichrist - now I had a goal.

Foregoing my usual baggy sweaters and gowns around the house, I began wearing dresses and skirts with billowing blouses unbuttoned to the center of my chest, particularly when daddy was home. I dashed on a little makeup in the evenings, just enough to stay below the blast of Mom's 'whorehouse floozy' shotgun, and painted my nails every few days. My thick, hairy brows got a trim, and I changed the way I wore my hair nearly every day.

It was mostly in the eyes and lips, though. I practiced in the mirror to get just the right amount of dark sultriness, with a tiny sweep of the tongue, then rolling my lower lip inward teasingly. Any time I could catch Dad's attention, I would level my best come-on, followed by a quick glance at his pants. The first few times, he nervously looked away. Then his expression gradually changed to curiosity - was I serious? - and I would lick my lips again, hungrily, with another overt peek downward. Within a week, he was returning my allures with a sly wink and a subtle smile. He was hooked!

As the spare tire at my waist actually started to shrink, I began to dress even more suggestively. For the first time in my life, I really looked good in tighter clothes. With the few extra dollars from my paycheck I went with my best friend, Beth, and she helped me pick out a couple of racy bras from that place at the mall, deep cut and lifting styles that made a real cleavage out of my poor, sagging girls. She begged me to tell her who the new guy was in my life, and I made up a story about a guy I met at the grocery store. It seemed everybody wanted to know about my love life.

"Got a new boyfriend, Allie?" Mom inquired at breakfast as she piled bacon from the stove behind me onto a plate.

"Maybe," was my coy answer, gazing intently at my Dad across the table.

He squinted, quietly gauging my design while watching out for Mom to turn around. I was not ignorant of the conflicts he must have been going through. What I wanted was so dangerous on so many levels. I didn't expect that his decision would be quick or reckless, but patience and determination were on my side.

"I just hope he appreciates how hard you're working to get him, honey," Mom said, setting the plate on the table.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" The question was aimed at Dad.

He started to answer, but Mom interjected, "She's not asking you, George! Of course you're pretty, Allie. You've always been a pretty girl," she said, and I rolled my eyes. "But boys want to marry a good girl, not some whorehouse floozy. Button that blouse up, and he'll respect you more."

That elicited a thin-lipped smile from the other side of the table.

When I laced up my shoes that evening for my walk, Dad asked, "Want some company?"

"Any time, Dad," I answered gleefully.

Side-by-side, we strolled along for a few blocks at a fraction of my usual pace. My mind whirred with insecurity. Was this simply a quiet walk with his daughter, or something else? Something good? Not so good? Dad was never much of a talker, and I was afraid to broach the subject I most wanted.

Then he took my hand. That was all the encouragement I needed. Every anxiety melted away at his touch, and I felt light as a balloon. Our fingers entwined, and I knew everything would be okay.

My usual route took me all the way around the park, but Dad wasn't in the best shape. Even his bald head was reddened, and his breathing labored. We turned in past the playground, and I immediately knew where I wanted to go. I led him around the lake, quickening my step a little.

When we arrived at a bench tucked into a small glen nearly surrounded by willows and tall shrubs, I asked, "Do you want to sit down for a while, Dad?"

"Yeah," he panted thankfully, plopping his stout frame on the bench.

I sat beside him, resting my head on his shoulder. We still held hands, and I laid my other on top. The sun was low, and shadows were deep in this part of the park. We were mostly hidden.

After Dad rested for a minute and regained his breath, he said, "Allie, maybe I don't say it enough, but I'm proud of how you're taking care of yourself. You've accomplished so much. You know you're the first person in my family to get a college degree?"

With a chuckle, I said, "Now if I could only find a decent job."

Squeezing my hand, he told me, "Don't let it bother you, Allie. You're young. All your dreams will be fulfilled in time." He held my head and gave me a kiss just below the hairline.

I sat up, looking into his eyes. "All of my dreams?"

Time suspended while we each wrestled with our thoughts.

Finally, he said cautiously, "Sometimes dreams aren't exactly what you think they might be. You shouldn't have high expectations."

Holding his hand tighter, I replied, "I promise I'll be happy with whatever I get, Daddy."

I prayed we were both talking about the same thing.

He leaned forward and kissed the tip of my nose, then sat back with an odd smile. I didn't move, my focus jumping back and forth between his eyes and his lips. After an excruciating few seconds, he came toward me again, except this time the kiss touched my lips. He lingered, briefly, coaxing a weak whimper from deep in my throat.

My eyes remained closed, memorizing the contour of his lips. When I opened them, he was still there, gazing at me. It was my turn to lean forward. I tilted my head to the side, and we met in the middle. The tentative contact became deliberate, then his arm was around my back and he was over me. My lips parted, and yes! There was his splendid tongue, feeding my fondest fantasies.

He jerked away. We heard voices, coming closer. A young couple walked by, the woman hanging on her beau's arm. They didn't even look in our direction, and even if they had seen us, we would have been just another romantic couple in the park.

I turned back to Dad. He laughed nervously, his face emblazoned with guilt.

"Maybe we should go," he suggested.

"Is that what you really want to do?" I asked pointedly.

Without hesitating, he shook his head with a firm, "No."

No boy ever kissed me the way my father did. For the first time, I knew what love felt like, because he poured his undeniable adoration into every moment that we spent on that bench. Our hands rubbed and caressed, but even though both of us were intensely aroused, we avoided any direct overtures. This was only the beginning, and it was perfect! Other things would come in their own time.

From that day, Dad joined me every evening on my walk. Sometimes we stopped on our private bench, and sometimes we just walked, always hand-in-hand. He also started watching what he ate, choosing salads for lunch and declining Mom's desserts. Even she noticed.

"Heavens, George. Light beer? What's got into you? Are you seeing some little whorehouse floozy on the side?"

I kept my head down, stifling a giggle.

"No, Ellen," he said with a straight face. "I'm just following our daughter's example."

"Maybe I should start coming with you two on your little walks," she threatened, but thankfully never followed through.

It had been nearly four weeks since I began my quest. I had lost over fifteen pounds, and I felt good about myself. Apparently the store manager saw it, too, and made me the head cashier. My confidence was higher than ever. It was time.

I wish I could say that I seduced my father through a clever subterfuge, or teased him until he couldn't keep himself away from me and snuck into my room one night. Mom made it much simpler than that.

She told us that an old friend had passed away unexpectedly. She decided to attend the visitation on Friday and stay over at her sister's house for the funeral, since it was closer.

Sensing a golden opportunity, I hurried home after work on the day she left. That gave me a couple of hours to prepare everything. I met Dad at the door in my old prom dress that looked even better on my slimmer figure. My hair was pulled up in a loose bun, pinned with a chopstick, and around my neck were the pearls my parents gave me for my sixteenth birthday. Black heels, a few delicate dabs of perfume, small pearl earrings, and my best whorehouse floozy lipstick added the final touches.

His jaw dropped. I kissed him, and he took me in his arms, squeezing our bodies tight together. I could feel the evidence of his excitement.

Breathless, I pushed him away and told him, "Go get a shower, daddy. Dinner will be ready soon."

With a big grin, he scurried off to the bathroom. When he returned in his best dark suit and a colorful tie, the house was dark, a soft jazz CD was on, and I waited by the candlelit table. I had seasoned and grilled a couple of the best pork chops that I could wrangle from Larry the butcher. Dad loved those. A couple of sprigs of steamed broccoli and a light salad complemented the chops. The store manager had helped me pick out a red wine.

Dad came straight to me and kissed me again. "You did all this?" he said, obviously awed.

I nodded bashfully.

"I'm so lucky to have a daughter like you, Allie." He gave me a peck on the lips, and held my chair out for me.

We enjoyed our meal with superficial conversation. The wine helped ease the butterflies.

Wiping his mouth delicately with the cloth napkin, my father sat back and sighed, "That was a perfect meal, Allie. I guess it's time for our daily walk, eh?"

This was my opening. "How about something else tonight?" I asked. My fists were clenched anxiously, and my heart beat wildly as I suggested, "Maybe a different activity that would burn a few hundred more calories?"

He didn't say anything, just stared at me. I couldn't read his expression, and every second made my tummy squirm a little more. I bit my lip.

His words were quiet, thoughtful. "You know it's wrong, don't you Allie?"

"I know it would be wrong if anyone found out," I replied. My voice trembled, "It would be even more wrong if it never happened."

After a dreadfully long, held-breath moment of introspection, Dad calmly got up from the table and went into the dark kitchen. What was he doing? I heard the freezer door open, the clink of dishes. He returned carrying a small bowl. Moving his chair closer, he set it facing me. The bowl was in his lap, out of sight.

"Since we're going to be decadent and burn a few extra calories in the process, I guess we can afford to be an even a little more decadent." He raised the spoon to my lips.

Mint chocolate chip! My favorite!

And just like that, it was decided. My father slowly fed me spoonfuls of ice cream, perhaps the most erotic experience of my life. If a dribble fell across my chin, he licked it away while looking deep into my eyes. He swiped the bottom of the dish with his finger and placed it in my mouth, and I gazed at him seductively, sucking his finger clean the same way that I knew I would soon be sucking his magical cock.

He stood and offered his arm. I slipped my hand through it and he led me to my bedroom. Anticipating that he wouldn't want to leave any evidence in his bed, I had positioned a dozen candles here as well, and quickly lit them.

My father and I kissed as lovers. He pulled the chopstick from my bun, and my hair fell loosely over my shoulders. Brushing a stray lock from my face, he said, "You're a gorgeous woman, Allie." Then, whether it was a moment of insecurity or one last attempt at being a good father, he asked, "Are you sure about this? If there is anything..."

I shushed him with a finger. "Yes, Daddy, I'm sure. I know this is difficult for you." Tapping my fingers above my heart, I told him, "Don't worry, your little girl is still right here, but she's sleeping right now. Big girl Allie is ready to play with her daddy. She knows exactly what she's doing. Big Allie wants you to switch off this brain..." I pointed at his temple, then he gasped as I reached between his legs, stroking the shape of my father's rigid cock for the first time. "...and she wants you to switch this brain into high gear."

He chuckled, then said apologetically, "I think I know, but I have to ask: is this your first time, Allie? Do I need to wear anything?"

With a flirtatious smile, I answered, "No. And no."

Turning me around, he cupped my breasts from behind and kissed my neck, and chills coursed up my spine, a fresh wetness seeping between my lower lips. He unzipped me, pushing the satin gown off my shoulders and letting it slither down my body to the floor. I heard a quick intake of breath, and I grinned.

"Allie! What a naughty girl you are. No underwear? No bra?" He popped my butt lightly, and I squealed.

"I'm such a whorehouse floozy, daddy," I admitted playfully. "What are we going to do about that?"

What a transcendent night that was. A woman can never know a love more pure than that of her father, and mine expressed his love in a way that most fathers would not, and with a fiery passion that I never imagined he could possess. His lips and his tongue roamed every inch of my body, from my soles to my crown, but mostly at the sweet spots on my chest and between my legs. His talented fingers and amazing mouth drove me to frenzied climaxes again and again until I begged him to take me.

He came over me, his cockhead pressing at my swollen kitty. My hand curled around its velvety softness, felt the blazing heat of him. His hand covered mine, and together we joined ourselves together, pressing his cock into the soupy wetness of my pocket. I had never felt so contented as when his pelvis touched my mons.

"God, Allie," he sighed. "You're so tight. Are you sure you're not a virgin?"

I laughed and hugged him, pulling his full weight down onto me. "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you, Allie," he whispered, combing his fingers through my hair. "You're so beautiful."

"Oh, Daddy!" I squeezed him tight. "Do it, please! Do it hard. Do it nasty. Anything you want, I promise I won't say no. Just promise me you won't stop until you're satisfied, Daddy. Please..."

Hoisting himself up on his hands, he fucked me. Heavens, what a fucking he gave me, slamming his hardness into my hungry kitty mercilessly. Maybe it was the result of his foreplay, or maybe it was the titillating, forbidden nature of our union, but I prefer to think it was my father's consummate ability as a lover that incited my first ever climax while fucking.