The Sweetest Sin Pt. 08

Cassie's story Pt III

Beside Dad's bed stands a 12-inch by 8-inch picture of a voluptuous young woman, her face hidden. The stem of a rose grows out of her vagina.

That's me.

You see, when I wasn't having hot incest sex with my father, I was busy recording and photographing. We had ordered a home printer and I was documenting our love affair. Positioning tripods, setting timers, practicing angles. Maybe one day we would have a catalogue to match Jack and Mom's.

Filming us making love was a matter of choosing the best angles for our phones and getting on with it. Porn movies work from most angles. But what I enjoyed most was the challenges of setting up amazing still photos.

We took a series of images of us in front of a full-length mirror, re-enacting the Lady and the Bear pose from the book cover. Me naked and shaven, hair flowing over my breasts, raspberry nipples poking through the strawberry blonde; his hairy body towering behind me, radiating danger and sex. His rampant erection rubbed against my back, spreading his secretion across my skin.

In other photos, he put his hands on me, and my pussy flipped at the sight of my big white breasts in those huge hairy paws, nipples sticking out from between his fingers. The contrast of his size and his dark chest hair against my smooth, slim, pale body always got my juices bubbling.

We took super close-ups that made it difficult to see what was going on. Photos you could you put on your lounge-room wall and no-one would know, until one day they might examine them from a certain angle and ask: "Is that his ... in her...?" That's right: an extremely close up image of my father's fingers inserted into me, big and hairy against the pink and white of my bare mound and my labia.

I knelt before him, admiring his cock. "God, it's beautiful," I murmured.

"Beautiful?" he laughed. "The last thing it is is beautiful. It's got veins all over, the helmet is that angry color, it's thick and raw and primitive."

"That's what make it beautiful," I said, taking it in hand. Meat-stick, fuck-rod, pussy-plunger, gunk-gun. "Never ignore the power of the primitive. Beautiful and brutal. Now, stop talking and get your pretty dick into my mouth."

There followed multiple images of me sucking him that look like special-effects trick shots: my mouth impossibly small, his cock impossibly wide.

Then there was a series, carefully constructed, re-enacting that first night when I fellated him, capturing the exact moment when he shot his bolt and I sprayed his cum all over his thick chest hair, then licked it off.

And, most graphic of all, picture upon picture of his cock in my shaven pussy from every conceivable angle. My labia stretched around his girth, seen from above, from the side, from below. Alabaster skin, pink pussy-flesh and so much hair, his black and my blonde.

But we had three favourites.

He had told me one night in bed: "The first time I saw it, I couldn't take my eyes away. Your cunt, it's unlike any other I've ever seen. Like a ripe peach split down the middle. If the peach was creamy-white and the slit was pink."

"Does it make a difference, Dad? Would you prefer me hairier in the area? Do you like a thick thatch or a smooth snatch?"

"Cassie, bare or bushy, it's the hottest, tightest, cummingest cunt I've ever fucked. And eating shaven pussy is a whole different experience. I worship your cunt. Let's film it, let's do something special with it."

So we made a riveting little video. I powdered my mound and vulva white so that you could hardly see the slit. Then I ran my middle finger, with its long nail, through the powder, up the slit to the top, creating a razor-thin pink line, like a knife slicing my peach open. Then I pushed my finger in, up to the first knuckle, and ran it down my slit, parting the labia like a zipper, opening up the entire pink length of myself.

Then there was my first teabagging. I crouched down, cleared as much hair as I could away from his low-hanging fruit and managed to cram them into my mouth, coating them with saliva as I licked and sucked, gently, reverentially.

He stood, straddling me, one foot on my back as I knelt. I arched my neck, mouth pointing straight up, and we got a super, super shot, his testicles completely stuffed into my mouth, and his thick erection sticking out above my face.

To the outsider, it looks like a classic case of male supremacy, dominance and aggression. The submissive female. The man's face contorted into a snarl, his fists clenched, foot planted on his woman. Above all, that big angry, rigid cock jutting out threateningly over me.

A depiction of masculine power?

Look closer. The snarl -- a grimace of ecstasy. The bunched fists -- trying to keep his body under control, whimpering while I gave his soft, vulnerable sacred stones a mouth massage. That battering ram between his legs ... his most fearsome weapon? Ha! Watch me turn it into his greatest weakness.

No, what it really depicts is the power of a woman's mouth.

But my favorite image was a genuinely arty shot, so simple yet so erotic: a rose, its long stem emerging from my pussy.

"Dad, make sure there are no thorns."

"Honey, those square inches between your legs are the most important piece of real estate on earth. Do you think I won't do everything possible to take care of it?"

"Good. Because there's only one prick I want to feel in my pussy."

It took an hour to get right. It didn't work with me standing up. The stalk wouldn't stay erect - not a problem we'd experienced in the past couple of weeks.

I lay on the floor, but that made my boobs fall away to the side. Dad finally suggested that I sit in a chair and lean back carefully. That did the trick. He sat in a chair opposite and began taking photos, then he stood, clicking away, his stiff dick waggling with every movement he made.

"This one," he said finally. He showed me. My body curved from my throat down to my upper thighs. The main colour, apart from my dazzling white skin, was pink: my bright pink nipples, the pale pink circling them, and the pink rose where it grew from my pink slit and curved upwards.

"Perfect," I said. We looked into each other's eyes. The same thought at the same time.

Dad's own personal stalk had been erect for the past hour. Now, without taking his eyes off me, he began stroking it as I gently rubbed my own personal flower.

The ultimate sex is to cum simultaneously. When fucking, we got it right most times. But this time, with no physical connection, it was trickier. I kept myself on the brink, circling my clit, ready for when he shot, not knowing when that would be.

I soon found out. He moved closer to me, total concentration on his face, eyes still tight on mine, then he bent at the knees. The skin of his cock-crown was purple and angry and stretched painfully tight. The veins stood out along the shaft. The cum slit gaped at me, livid and raw. His cock looked frantic, as though it was about to explode. And then it did. He broke eye contact for a second, directed his dick at my pussy and released a string of semen, splattering directly onto my clit.

Rubbing his thick fluid over my clit immediately sent my orgasm coursing through me. He released a torrent of sperm down on me - onto my vulva, my clit, my pussy lips, the rose, knocking off petals with his heavy rain. Splat, splat again.

My body tensed. My pussy spasmed out of control. I pulled off a handful of petals and crushed them, blending them with his cum and massaged the mixture across my clit and up between my wide-open lips.

We were making each other cum, cumming together, our eyes locked. Without touching each other. Without speaking. Just pure pleasure, magnified by our invisible incestual connection.

My body eventually relaxed and I lay there breathless in the chair, rubbing cum and crushed petals across my mound and up inside me.

He collapsed into his chair. His dick, still big, but wilting, drooled silently onto the floor.

Wow. Just wow. We looked at each other and grinned. We still got it!

++

God, life was wonderful. We lived in a self-contained bubble of desire.

It wasn't solely about the sex. We complemented each other so well in other ways. There was the interest in photography, of course. Unlike Mom and Jack, we didn't have the same sense of humour. He was dry and subtle, I was sharp and smart. Although we both enjoyed cooking, he preferred bland food, I spiced it up. I drank wine; beer for him. I was on an internet IV drip; for someone in PR, he was no good with social media - "That's what I pay my team for." While he read his book, I scrolled my phone. Male and female: different, yes, but we fitted.

And whereas I was good with tech stuff (the home printer), he was good with words. Great with words. "The English language is a gift," he said. "Cherish it."

We'd finished dinner one evening when he shyly handed me a piece of paper. "Um ... What do you think?"

I read it carefully, then read it again. "Wow. It's brilliant. So tender. He must really love her. She must ..." I looked up at him in shock. "Wait, Dad ... did you... for me...?"

I burst into tears, ran out and locked myself in the bathroom and cried for the rest of the evening. Every time the tears stopped, I took another glance at the poem and began weeping again. Poetry! No one had ever ... the most creative any of my pseudo-boyfriends had got was their underwhelming dick-pics.

My eyes kept returning to the final lines

Light in human form

flashed across my life

And then was gone

and I began bawling again. Eventually, exhausted, I crept out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He was there to brush my hair out of my eyes and kiss my tears away. "I'm not going anywhere, Daddy," I sobbed softly, and I came at the first touch of his finger.

+++

We had gone to church that morning, in the house of the Lord for the first time as lovers. But something was troubling me. I couldn't concentrate on the sermon, lost my way during the hymns.

"Dad," I asked as we lay in bed that night. "Are we ... are we sinners in God's eyes? Sinners in our Garden of Eden?"

I knew that Mom and my brother Jack attended church every week, with a fresh load of his live sperm wriggling in her belly. But did that make it right?

Dad exhaled loudly. "So, we're tackling the easy subjects first, are we? I've been thinking about this, and, well, most people would say yes, it is a sin. But then, some people would say homosexuality is a sin. Or eating shellfish. There's a lot in the Old Testament that's open to interpretation, or that doesn't apply to modern Christians. In Leviticus, you're told that there will be hell to pay if you mess with your brother's wife. Then Deuteronomy says there'll be hell to pay if your brother dies and you don't marry his widow. I know, I know, I'm just trying to rationalize. Then there's Onan and Judah in Genesis - what is it with daughters-in-law?"

I considered this. "Is it incest if it's in-laws?"

"Well, it's in-law-cest," he replied.

I laughed. "Or Lot and his daughters. Lucky Lot! What was that about!"

"I think I've seen that movie," Dad grinned. "I fact, I was in it."

"And what about the grand-daddy of them all," I said. "Abraham and 'sister' Sarah. Does that count?"

He laughed. "But anyway, we hew more to the New Testament than the Old. And what's the main message we get from the New Testament?"

"Love," I replied.

"Love. And no one could deny that we are adding mightily to the sum of love in this world. That puts something in the scales to weight against breaking such a strong taboo. We are good, kind, loving people, and this is between you and me and God. It's not a matter of what would Jesus do, more a matter of what He would say. I think He'll understand. He wouldn't approve, but He wouldn't condemn."

"That's great, Dad. Thanks. That explains a lot."

"Good. Now I have a couple of questions of my own," he said. "How long have you known, Cassie - known about you and me? Why did you come to New York to seduce me?"

I hesitated. I couldn't tell him that the sight of my brother and his mother screwing for America had opened my eyes, finally revealing to me my subconscious, repressed father fantasy.

I didn't want to tell him, either, that I had spent the past six months fantasizing about frolicking with the local wildlife. That when I came on my finger, it was with a vision in my mind of a giant brown Bear and a long-haired Lady from the cover of an old paperback.

Not that I was going to apologize for my bear obsession. While it lasted, it had given me endless delight.

At first I fantasized about the Bear and the Lady getting it on. Initially, it was a spectator sport. In my mind, I would walk down to the bottom of the garden, into the forest and find the Bear and his bear-naked Lady lying on the grass, ready to do their thing. Then one day, I switched it up. On arrival at the show in my mind, I found the Bear looming over the Lady on the ground, trying to nuzzle her into further action. She saw me, pointed to his long, red thing (obviously ready for another round) and she said to me: "I'm exhausted. I can't keep up with him. You try. He likes blondes." The Bear shambled over to me, sniffing the air. Sniffing me. Sniffing, sniffing, sniffing... From then on, it was the Lady doing the watching.

Plus, my bear fantasy had given me the vision of a strong alpha male with a prick and tongue that could satisfy me - a vision that had led me to the love of my life.

But until I had seen Mom and Jack fucking, I hadn't understood that this forest fantasy was just a cover for my buried longing for my father. It was Daddy's long tongue, Daddy's thick penis, his hard, hairy body that I was subconsciously crying out for. Not to mention the babies that not even the most virile bear could give me.

No, I couldn't tell Dad any of that, not yet. Instead, I said (and every word was true): "I've known for years that I wanted my mate to be a serious man. Mature, competent, successful, a man who knows what he is doing, knows what he wants. Not a kid fumbling in the dark with a bra clasp. I wanted a big strong man, a big strong dick. Someone to fulfill me, to fill me. To protect and service. I wanted a man with knowledge. Experience. From that first time in bed, from the moment you unhooked my bra so expertly, I knew."

It was simple: Daddy's girl wanted her Daddy. All this time I had yearned to be That Woman on the cover, when what I really wanted was That Man.

I snuggled into his warm chest: "It's always been you, Papa Bear. It always will be you."

"And the hair thing? You honestly don't mind?"

"Your pelt? God, I love it. I love how it looks, how it feels against my skin. It sets my nipples on fire when I drag them across your chest. I told you, Dad, I wanted a real man, not some hairless street rat. Is it a fetish? All right, it's a fetish, I'm not apologizing for it."

He smiled. "OK, I can live with that."

"You know," I mused, "In Beauty and The Beast, I could never understand why Belle preferred the prince to The Beast. That big hirsute body towering over her. Those fangs, those muscles. Pure power. The Beast was 10 times her size. If he was built in proportion, he had the equipment to give her a proper beasting!"

He laughed.

"I guess we all have our fetishes, our obsessions," I went on. "Or just plain preferences. I mean, take Ja..."

I caught myself in time. Best not to tell Dad how attracted Jack was to Mom's huge breasts and her vintage porn-star bush. It was a problem that kept recurring. I'd catch myself just before saying: "Choke me like Jack chokes Mom." Or "Did she ever let you cum in her hair?"

Luckily, he hadn't noticed. He went quiet for a time and then he said: "An obsession, a fixation? That's not all this is, is it, Cassie?"

"Oh God, no! Dad, that's not what I meant. It's an enormous turn-on. But it's just one part of you. I love you, Dad. Even if you weren't my father, I'd want to fuck you."

He laughed and kissed me. "OK, It's just that when the most beautiful woman in the world chases you, a man wonders why."

"You don't need to wonder any more, Dad. The way we fuck, the way we enjoy each other's company, the way we bring out the best in one another should put those doubts to rest."

I hesitated. This was the part I found difficult to explain, even to myself. "And when you're drilling me to an orgasm, the fact that it's my father between my legs, my father shooting his sperm up into my womb, I can't explain how great, how loved, how special that makes me feel. It's something I couldn't replicate with any other man, ever. No one else could compare. Something would be missing. I could never have that connection with anyone else."

Incest. The word sent a shiver though me. When we made love, I found it hard to express what it meant that I was getting railed by my own father. I was opening up my most intimate parts for our mutual pleasure. Welcoming in the one man in the world who is utterly forbidden to me. Offering the most secret moist, pink flesh that is utterly forbidden to him -- the man who was riding me, bringing me to sexual peaks, seeding me.

Incest. It was completely prohibited, overwhelmingly intoxicating. Incest didn't just magnify all our pleasures, all our feelings, it multiplied them. Sex x Incest = Nirvana. I could not imagine my life without it. Complicity in this defiance of the world made us sexual equals despite the difference in our age and experience. We didn't just complement each other, we completed each other.

Incest. The thrill that never palls. That's why our sex will never grow stale.

I lazily played with his balls. "And what about you, Dad? When did you know about us?"

He laughed. "Oh boy, I was so slow to catch on. At the airport, you in that tight T-shirt, those 'new' boobs - I didn't know where to look. I felt ... well, I don't know what I felt. The last time I'd seen you, you were a girl. Now you were a sexy, curvaceous woman with a body built to be fucked, and I prayed you couldn't feel my erection as you hugged me. It's tough. Fathers aren't supposed to be attracted to their daughter's breasts. I took one look, then I had to maintain eye contact. It wasn't easy! I didn't know how I'd be able to do it for two whole weeks.

"And I have to admit, I was puzzled by your behavior at the dinner table - the way you touched me, the things you were saying. Illicit, but erotic. Confusing. In that tiny robe, boobs bursting out, practically upskirting yourself. And then that scene in the bathroom. I just couldn't imagine that my baby-girl, the person I love most in the world, could be sending me those signals. I thought: I'm going crazy. Flashing your bare cunt at me - that had to be an accident, surely? Your wet slit, that inner flesh, that beautiful scent - I was overwhelmed. I mean, you have the body of a woman, but to me you were still my little girl. Every night before I go to sleep, I kiss that picture of you in the hall. I couldn't reconcile the image of you in pigtails and tutu with the beautiful grown-up woman who was exposing her innermost secrets to me."

He inserted a finger into those innermost secrets and played idly.

"And I don't think you realise what a momentous step this was for me. A father, penetrating his only daughter. Exploring her most sacred parts. Deriving pleasure from riding her. Giving pleasure in return. There are many lines to cross in a relationship like this. But asserting my sexual right to you by planting my seed in you, that's the ultimate taboo. There are no more lines to cross after that."