The Legacy Pt. 02

Every muscle in my body tenses, my coochie clamping around his wonderful cock. The prickles travel up my spine, then spread across every inch of my skin, and my breasts feel like they're going to pop. An unholy wail rises from my lungs, and finally, I collapse, a beached whale, heaving, desperate for air.

I get no respite. In a flash, Paul rears up on his knees, rolls me over, and grabs my hips, jerking my big fanny up. With one lunge, his cock is reaming my poor little kitty again. It's easy to forget that I am not his first piece of ass today. Our daughter has probably wrung every last drop of semen from his balls. He's in it for the long haul. It's rare, but I'm not sure I'll be able to hold up as long as him.

I'm leaning on my palms. With no warning, he leans over me and pulls my elbows back, out from under me. Abruptly, I fall cheek-first on the mattress. He seizes both wrists and straightens my arms, holding them like reins, straight out behind me. Slowly he twists them, right to the edge of discomfort, then just a little more, and I whimper. He pulls on them, using the leverage to grind himself into me even more ferociously, and the ache in my muscles strangely twists into the pleasure of being overcome, dominated, taken. His loins are hitting those spots again, and in short order I'm tingling all over, bucking and moaning deliriously, wrapped in another climax.

God, how long can this go on?

He suddenly pulls out, rolls me onto my back, and quickly climbs up to straddle my shoulders. Even though I have an idea of what to expect, I still shriek when he grabs two handfuls of hair and painfully jerks my mouth onto his cock. He fucks my face, his balls grazing my chest. I hold both of his butt cheeks to help guide him, working my charms to finally - thankfully - deliver him of his goods, gobbling down every last tiny morsel. I'm not surprised that it's a small serving.

We are both exhausted. For a long while, we lay quietly entwined, side-by-side, kissing, caressing, cooing. It is not yet six o'clock. This night is young, and ripe with portent.

It is some time before my husband finds his voice.

"Okay, Allie. Do you want to tell me why you've been such a snitty little bitch lately?"

I can't help but grin. He hasn't figured it out yet. I wonder how long it will take for him to put two and two together. I'll give him a clue.

"How about we start with the truth, Paul?"

Perhaps it's my incriminating tone, or the penetrating gaze. I feel his body tense in my arms. He knows what's coming even before I begin.

In a sad, last-ditch attempt at self-deception, he stammers, "Wh-what are you talking about, Allie?"

"How about you tell me exactly what you did with our daughter after I left on Friday"

It is a terrible, terrible thing that I do to my husband. All facades, all rationalizations, all of his self-justifications and excuses are wiped away in a single second. Faced with the enormity of his crimes and their consequences, he shakes uncontrollably, his neurons flooded in a tsunami of shame.

He buries his head into the hollow my neck, sobbing a litany of "Oh, God! Oh, God!..."

I hold him tight, comforting him while the poisonous guilt washes out of his system. I will need him cleansed and lucid.

When he has no more tears, he raises his head. He is despondent, hopeless. "You know, don't you?" he asks weakly.

I nod. "How far did it go, Paul?" I ask gently. Eventually he will give me all the juicy details. For now, a simple confirmation is enough.

His head downcast, he answers, "Everything. More than I..." He lifts terrified eyes to me. "What are you going to do, Allie?"

Of all the things that could happen to him - the alienation of his daughter, public ridicule, even prison - his first care is about me, about us. That touches my heart, and my lip quivers as I answer.

"Nothing."

"But..."

I lean forward and kiss him. I whisper again, "Nothing, Paul. I'm okay."

He is incredulous. "You - you're okay? You know what I did, right?"

"I know what both of you did. It takes two, remember?"

"But I'm her father," he objects, his better angels stirring their self-recriminations. "I'm supposed to take care of her, to protect her. I'm supposed to be the adult..."

"You're both adults," I scold him. "She's a big girl now, remember? Dana knew exactly what she was doing." Stroking the dwindling hair above his ear, I tell him, "You're a wonderful lover, Paul, and I'm sure you made her quite happy. I'll bet you enjoyed it just a little bit, too. Didn't you?"

His gaze is distant as his thoughts wander through the events of the last few days. I even see a flicker of a grin at the corners of his mouth.

With a smirk, I rejoin, "Yeah, I thought so."

My husband is still unsure. "Wait. You're serious, aren't you? It doesn't bother you at all that I cheated on you. That I made love with another woman, who - oh, yeah - just happens to be our little girl?"

"No, Paul, it doesn't bother me. The passion and love that you share with our daughter doesn't bother me at all."

He gapes at me, astonished, speechless.

Hooking a finger under his chin, I explain with no uncertainty, "Listen, Paul. I'll make this as clear as I can. If you ever go screwing around on me with anybody else..." I reach between his legs and clench his limp, sticky penis in a death grip. He jumps, with an alarmed gasp. "...Anybody else, Paul, and you can kiss this little feller goodbye. Got it?"

Wide-eyed, he nods fervently. "Yes, Allie. I got it. I wouldn't dare do anything like that, I swear. Not ever."

Easing off, I pull tenderly on his foreskin. "And yet it took our daughter only, what - a few weeks to seduce you?"

His head droops, embarrassed. I shake my head, disappointed. That was clue number two, and he still doesn't see all the pieces of the puzzle.

Still fondling his soft cock, I tell him, "So long as you two can keep it quiet, Dana is fair game."

Behind the glazed look in his eyes is a whirling ball of confusion. "Huh? You mean - you're okay if I - I mean, if we...?"

"Sure. Go ahead and fuck our daughter 'til she screams. Lick her juicy little kitty. Feed her another mouthful of her daddy's cock. Whatever she wants."

He's dazed. But if the swelling flesh in my hand is any indication, I have his attention. One night soon, I will whisper to him, "Go on. I'm asleep now", and I'll kick him out of our bed, but I'll expect him back in two hours and he'd better have a little bit left for me.

I warn him, "This is not carte blanche. There are a few rules. Everything stays private, between you and her. She can never talk to anybody about this. Not anybody - not her friends, not even me. Especially not me. You must never tell her that I know, or that I even suspect what's going on."

Paul reassures me. "She understands how dangerous it would be if she even hinted at it with anyone else. She knows what it would do to all of us, and wouldn't dare breathe a word. But - but I don't understand..." He cocks his head. "...Why does she need to keep it a secret from you?"

Why, indeed?

To answer that question, he would first have to live just one day as a woman. He would need to experience our frustrations and overpowering, often conflicted emotions. He would have to reconcile the contradictions of our innermost feminine desires that even we cannot fully grasp: our innate yearning to submit, to be taken and to give completely of ourselves, while simultaneously trying to retain some measure of pride and self-worth, and to make our own mark on the world.

It was only when faced with raising a girl of my own that I looked back and fully appreciated how my mother had prepared me for my role as an adult woman. She understood the unique anxieties and confusedness of a young woman's awkward transition from teen years into her twenties. She witnessed the implosion of my first marriage, and recognized how I was quickly evolving into another one of those sour-faced bitches, a sharp-tongued harpy who torments her mate until nothing remains but a hollow shell of his former manhood.

Sure, she could have sat me down for long lectures on the nature of men and women. In my callous and arrogant youth, I would have rolled my eyes and shrugged off her attempts at enlightenment, just as my daughter does with me. In a mother's supremely unselfish and loving manner, she found an oblique, yet infinitely more effective approach: she reached out to me through my father.

Now I can clearly see her handprint on my life, the way she used our liaisons as her conduit. After my loving father stocked my sexual arsenal, he tutored me on how to wield my feminine weapons, to ply the subtle arts woven into the fabric of a woman: deception, persuasion, and temptation. In retrospect, I realize that the arcane secrets he whispered under the covers originated from someone far more intimate with the complexities and power cloaked in our femininity. Through Dad's pounding cock and multi-talented tongue, my mother shared her wisdom of how to redirect the savage male ego and powerful, testosterone-fed energies, how to shape and mold a man into a better husband and father, to make him into a strong, sensitive lover like my daddy was. Like my husband is.

Though she and I never spoke of the incestuous affair - or even hinted at it - she certainly had to know. I thought I was being so clever and sly, seducing my father right under her nose. That same nose must undoubtedly have detected the detritus of our fucking, the rampant scent of our sex covering every bed, sofa, chair, table, carpet and washing machine in the house.

And so I will dance the same dance with my daughter. I will spoon-feed Paul the lessons that I want her to learn, and out of my eyesight, they will love each other madly and fuck until they're silly. Then afterward, lying together in post-coital glow, she will avidly absorb her father's profound advice, as I did. I will observe from afar as she practices on him until the womanly wiles become second nature. In time, she will find a good man for herself, and she will treat him well, and make him an even better man, too. Then, some day, if she is lucky enough to have a girl of her own, she will understand what I have done, and hopefully she will pass our legacy on to her daughter.

Along the way, perhaps my husband will also begin to appreciate what I am doing, at least in whatever limited way a man can comprehend our delicate position. One day I may even be able to explain the truth of why their trysts must appear to remain hidden from me. For now, I will tell him only what he can understand, and so I draw my best weapons: half-truths, misdirection, and a little tug at the heartstrings.

I lower my eyes, watching my fingers nervously fidget with his cock, feigning timidity as I contemplate my answer. "Paul, I need to know: which one of us is your wife now? Me, or Dana?"

The insecurity I must feel finally hits him, and he hugs me tight against his furry chest. "Allie! Oh, my God! You are my wife, of course. I'll always love you, Allie. It's funny, but the one thing I realized this weekend is that you're the one who makes us a family. Dana knows it, too."

"Thank you, Paul." I add quietly, with a small sniff for good measure. "You're all I have, and it takes both of us working together as a team to make a secure and happy home."

"Yeah," he chuckles. "I can see it now. If Dana thought she was your equal, the arguments would never stop. I guess two wives is one wife too many." With clever eyes, he adds, "Sometimes one wife is too many."

Ignoring his jibe, I encourage him with a brief kiss. "You're so right, Paul."

"Our marriage needs to come first," he decides, finally arriving where I was pointing. "We'll keep pretending that you're the dull, clueless old iron-clad bitch that she thinks you are."

"Um, yeah. Something like that," I agree with a sidelong look. Framing the need for secrecy as a power struggle is something he can understand, and it is not a complete lie. Neither is it the complete truth. But that's the way we girls do it.

"Are you still going to be able to keep up appearances?" he asks.

"I've been doing it for over twenty years, my love."

With a surprised double take, he gives me a look that shows the beginnings of admiration. Not bad for a man.

"There's another reason we need to keep it a secret," I tell him. "Deep inside, every girl wants to marry her father, Paul. The lucky ones find a man who is just as strong, and loving and caring as her dear daddy, just like I did."

He kisses me sweetly, completely ignoring clue number three; it went right over his head. Jeez, what am I going to have to do - draw him a fucking picture?

"Some day," I continue, "Dana will find a man she loves nearly as much as you, and she will want to marry him. When that day comes, I need you to give me your word that you will let her go, and you won't touch her any more. Can you promise me that?"

With full sincerity, he says, "Of course, Allie. I want her to be happy."

Paul is a good man. I'm confident he'll do the right thing.

"I thought so," I give him a peck on the lips. "So long you keep your intimacy private, just between the two of you, she will be 'the other woman'. This will be your little 'fling' together."

"Yeah," he says, more to himself. "Right. It wouldn't be nearly as exciting if we weren't sneaking around." His brow furrows as my subtle prompts begin to coalesce. "You know what else, Allie? There's a chance she might grow to depend on me instead of looking for her future husband. That's not what we want, is it? "

"No, it's not. I hadn't thought of that, Paul. You're so smart. Now I know why I married you," I tell him, and feel his chest jut out pridefully. "By the way, where is our incestuous little whorehouse floozy of a daughter tonight?"

"She's in her room," he says with a chuckle.

I gasp, suddenly embarrassed. I hadn't seen her, and assumed that she was out with friends. I've always made it a point to be quiet when we get frisky while she's at home, but she surely heard my screaming. I have to wonder what she thinks about it. Did he treat her like that? Is she in her room with her fingers in her panties?

Paul explains, "She's trying to figure out how she can pay for a Master's in psychology. She's thinking about a career in sex counseling."

"Wow!" I'm exuberant. "That is wonderful, Paul! You know it's all because of you."

"Huh? What do you mean?" he asks.

"Her confidence has grown sky high since she started taking care of herself. She wanted to look good for you."

His chest puffs out again. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

His chest is not the only thing that puffing out. I fondle his cock, coaxing more blood back into it.

Furrowing his brow, he asks me, "But how did you know about her kinks, Allie?"

Now I'm the one who's confused. "What kinks?"

"You know, the tying up and spanking thing. It scared the hell out of us when you talked about it on the phone today."

"What?" I exclaim, frantically searching my memory of what we discussed. "No! I didn't have any idea." My face lights up in a grin as my imagination kicks in. "So our little daughter likes it rough, huh? Wants her man to be in contr... Hold on! That stuff you did when I came home - was that her idea?"

He grins sheepishly. "Yeah, she gave me a few pointers. We were afraid you might suspect something, and she told me I should keep you off balance, don't give you time to think. You know, the best defense..."

"...Is a good offense," I say, completing his thought. I whisper to myself, "That conniving little slut." I don't think I've ever been more proud of my daughter. Or thankful. "Let her know - carefully - that I really enjoyed the 'welcome home' gift, even without a spanking."

"She kept telling me that I should take you over my knee, but we've never - I mean, I've never hit you before, Allie. It was hard enough to do it with Dana the first time." He looks on me with hesitant anticipation. "Is that...? Would you...? I mean..."

"Absolutely not, Paul," I tell him sternly. "Don't you dare try anything like that with me, not ever! At least not until the next time I turn into a snitty little bitch." I wink. And that time may not be too long in the making, I think to myself.

"Right," he says, his eyes narrowing, with an evil leer that opens the flood gates in my kitty again.

I've toyed with him long enough. It's time for him to figure the rest out. Still pumping gently on his cock, I give his memory a nudge, asking innocently, "So when did this all begin with Dana? What happened between you?"

"She came in here one morning while I was sleeping in. I was lying here, naked; I think you and I had been playing around that morning. As a matter of fact, I think that was the last time that you... Wait a damn minute!"

Bingo!

"That was about four weeks ago," he says, eyeing me suspiciously as I push him onto his back and throw my plump thigh over his belly. "What the hell's been going on, Allie? Did you...? Was this all something you cooked up?" he demands.

I'm kneeling across his loins, grinning and thrusting gently back and forth, rubbing my clit along the delicious irregularities of his erection.

"Oh, God, Allie," he groans. "Not again. I can't. I don't have anything left."

"Oh, I think you do. Besides, you owe me. How many times has our little girl milked your balls this weekend?"

He thinks hard, "Let's see, three today. Four, if you include what we just did. Four times yesterday."

I think that's the most we've ever done it, too. I pull his hands up to my breasts. "You've been a busy boy. What about Friday?"

"Two. No, three, if you count the time I tied her up and then beat off on her boobs."

I crack up. "Seriously? She wanted you to do that? Just how kinky is our daughter?"

"Seriously kinky. She won't say no to anything, and the more decadent and demeaning it is, the more she likes it."

I can't stand it. "You're going to tell me everything, Paul. I want details. And then you and I are going to try a few of them ourselves."

He grins. "First, you gotta' explain how you got Dana and me together."

"I'll tell you, but it's going to cost you. We're going to break the record tonight, and go for five times." I sit back on him, and he slides easily into my slippery pocket.

"Please, Allie," he begs. "My well is all dried up."

Leaning on his shoulders, I start rocking my hips. "Maybe I can prime the pump," I whisper to him. "Let me tell you a story. It all started on a Saturday in July, a few weeks after I'd graduated..."