Twas the Night

He sinfully hooked his thumbs into her waistband and pulled it down. His fingers reached in and around to feel the smooth, bare flesh of her perfect ass. He'd admired it so many times, not lusting, not wanting, just admiring, sort of proud that he'd brought that ass into the world.

Now he felt it, as he watched her literally explode on him with pleasure. His face held and expression of shock, and fear, he was sure, but inside he was grinning.

He lost himself in the feel of her pussy grabbing his cock, and the smooth, tender young flesh of her ass in his hands. He clawed at her ass, enjoying the soft, yielding feel of her.

She reached back with one hand to meet his. She held his fingers as she screamed and rocked, her eyes clenched shut, her face a picture of feminine beauty and ecstasy.

He panicked as she fought to pull his hand free of her ass. He didn't resist. A lump formed in his throat, keeping him from speaking. He'd gone too far, he was sure.

He needn't have worried. As quickly as she'd pulled his hand free, she place it on her breast. He felt her soft, full, firm breast through the cotton. Her nipple, hard and resisting, poked into his palm like a nail. Her hand released his to quickly tear the snaps open at the front of her top. As quickly as she could, she scrabbled for his hand on her breast, and moved it inside, to touch her forbidden flesh with his sinful flesh.

She screamed more loudly, still, as he kneaded and massaged that perfect breast. Her other hand scrabbled for his, still on her waist. He didn't wait for her direction, but hurriedly moved that to her other breast. He squeezed them separately, then together.

"Fuck, yes, Santa, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck yes."

She leaned forward, increasing his pressure on her, moaning and screaming in unending rapture. Her hands fell on his, helping him to squeeze and fondle her tits, making him more forceful, and willing, and eager. Her tits felt magnificent, like nothing on earth. They were so full, so smooth, so soft, and it gave her so much pleasure. It had been decades since he'd felt such exhilaration, giving a woman such pleasure with his hands, and his cock.

He felt extreme shame at an overpowering urge to look at them, to see his daughter's lovely, magnificent tits, exposed in all of their glory. He had, from time to time as she'd gotten older, and developed so perfectly, tried to steal a peek here and there. The little minx had teased him, giving him more than enough opportunities, but his own sense of duty, and a form of cowardice, he supposed, kept him from indulging the whim, even when she had made it not only easy, but hard to avoid.

He always caught a wry little smile on her face afterward, as if she enjoyed teasing him. She enjoyed the fact that he wanted to look.

With his cock buried inside her, with her flailing about and squealing with delight, he was sure as hell going to see her tits now. He let his hands drift to the outsides of her breasts, then he used his arms to push the fabric of her top aside, opening it wide. He let his hands drift up to her shoulders, to push the top part way down her arms.

They were magnificent. They jiggled perfectly, not flopping, not formlessly soft, but firm, rounded at the sides and pointed at the nipples, jutting out at him with black, hard, engorged nipples amidst glistening, smooth, coffee cream skin.

He let his hands slip back down to explore and massage them, not roughly, but gently. They were so fucking magnificently beautiful. She rode his cock, and stared at him and squealed and panted, as he looked longingly and lovingly at her perfect breasts.

* * *

His gaze, locked on her breasts, was overwhelmingly erotic. She'd never felt more loved in her life, as much as she always knew that he loved her. But he'd never loved her that way, and the thought of it, the feel of it, was intoxicating.

The fat slobs at the club stared at her tits and her nipples with a drunken longing. She despised it. But this was different. She'd tried so many times to get him to look, and now he was, now he had a look of entranced admiration that was focused totally and completely on her tits.

The fat slobs wanted to kiss them. They wanted to suck and taste them. Now she wanted her father to enjoy what they never could.

It pained her, but she slipped forward off of his cock. She guided herself up across his wide, round belly, dragging her dripping pussy over his suit, getting as much pleasure as she could from pressing her clit against him as she moved slowly upward, determined to let him taste her dark chocolate nipples.

* * *

The moment she left his cock, and the cold apartment air hit it, magnified by the wet juices that she'd left covering him, as soon as that blast of cold hit his cock, he felt ashamed. In seeing him stare with vulgar lust at her tits, she had come to her senses, when it should have been him. She was putting an end to it, and it hurt two fold. It hurt because he should have had the strength to end it himself, and it hurt that it was over, that the fantastically erotic experience of fucking this most beautiful and admirable of women, the only woman in his life, had come to an end.

He was ready to apologize when her neck passed over his face, and then her collar bone, and then her tit was there, with a broad, round, rich brown nipple right before him. She pressed the nipple into his face. He felt the hard poke of hit, with smooth, hot, yielding flesh all around it. He shifted his head as she guided that tasty, sweet morsel of flesh into his waiting mouth.

He opened wide to take as much of her tit in as he could, reveling in the high pitched squeal with which she rewarded him. Her hips gyrated against her belly, pressing herself against him in an unending quest for satisfaction. He slipped his hands inside her pajama bottoms again, to hold her sweet ass and drive her pussy harder against his belly, to help her find the climax she so deserved. All the while he savored and teased and almost inhaled first one tit, then the other. As she moaned for him, he moaned for her, while he ached to feel himself inside of her again.

* * *

His fake beard tickled her skin, while his real growth scratched the skin of her tits in a delightful way. His mouth was so hot and hungry, suckling and torturing her nipples in amazing ways. When his hands held her ass, and pressed her powerfully down into his belly, she came in a torrent of screams.

She fought him, at first, when his powerful hands grabbed her hips and pushed her down, taking his mouth from her tits. She fought him, but it was useless. He was too strong, and it was what she wanted, anyway, too. She let him push her down, and then she wiggled until his cock popped easily back into her slick, wet pussy again.

The moment he entered her, with his face beside hers, with his fake beard tickling her neck and his real whiskers scratching her cheek, she came yet again, with a force that almost drove her to unconsciousness. The the most crushing waves of ecstasy had passed, she found her voice.

"Oh, fuck, Santa. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, yes."

His large, meaty hands dug into her ass, moving her on him with a wild, random lust. She let her father control her. She let him move her and drive her pussy down onto his magical, fatherly cock however he pleased.

While he did so, she moved turned her face and kissed his cheek. The covered him with a flurry of soft, wet kisses, gently at first, but soon growing more eager and more rapid and more wet. She opened her mouth wide, letting him feel the hungry wetness of her tongue slavering over him.

As he drove her down onto his thick, stiff cock, she slipped her face over his, kissing every inch of skin that she passed, until she was hovering over his lips, breathing straight into his mouth. She stayed there, poised, staring into his eyes. Paradoxically, while their hips writhed and pounded against each other with an animal frenzy, their faces were calm and perfectly still, just staring, a father gazing with love into the eyes of his daughter, and a daughter showing him that same love, mixed with an unexpected, irresistible lust.

He lips brushed against his, pressing softly, at first, and then with more force, more passion.

* * *

She was so fucking beautiful, it pained him to close his eyes, but he couldn't watch her as she kissed him. He felt like he was betraying her, even though she'd started this, and she wanted this, and he had been almost helpless in letting it continue.

He closed his eyes in fear and shock as her lips pressed against his, and in fear and shock she kissed him as he thought no woman ever had, or might. Her thick, full lips marauded over his, brushing and pressing, hunting and searching, probing and taking. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth, where it wandered and explored ceaselessly, penetrating him in an agonizingly sinful, pleasurable way.

He tried to imagine that she wasn't his daughter, his perfect, beautiful, sexy daughter. He tried to imagine she was another woman, one that he could have with abandon. He tried, and he failed. She was his daughter. He was fucking his perfect, beautiful, sexy daughter.

He was fucking her, and she was kissing him, and he was touching her marvelous body, and she was loving every moment of it. He was fucking her to an unending string of unexpected, frighteningly powerful orgasms.

He felt shame and guilt, because he loved it.

* * *

He barely responded as her lips moved over his. She couldn't stop. She couldn't worry about how scared, or concerned, he was. This was for him. She had to make it wonderful, for both of them.

She kissed him furiously. Her lips raged over his. Her tongue sought his out. She wiggled and moved on his cock. She pressed her tits into his huge, powerful hands. She kissed him wantonly and feverishly.

His staying power was unbelievable, she thought, in a brief moment of clarity. His cock had stayed hard inside her for so long, and he showed no sign of coming himself. She could ride him for hours she thought. She hoped.

"I'm so fucking naughty, Santa. Put me on the naughty list. Put me on the fucking nicely naughty list. Just fuck me more, Santa, fuck my naughty little pussy more and more and more."

She yelled it as loudly as she could, straight into his ear.

"Roll me over, Santa. Roll me over and fuck me hard."

* * *

She begged him to mount her, to fuck her properly, as hard as he could. She begged and begged.

"No, baby, I can't," he told her.

"Please, Santa, please. Fuck me hard."

"Baby, no, I'll hurt you. I'm too big."

She kissed him hard again, on the lips. He tried not to kiss her back, but he didn't resist. It was too wonderful.

She broke the kiss to stare into his face.

"You won't hurt me, you'll never hurt me."

She kissed him again, deeply but briefly.

"Fuck me hard, Daddy. Fucking fuck me hard."

* * *

She hadn't meant to say that, to call him "Daddy." She'd tried to hide what they were doing behind the game of seducing Santa. They were both pretending that this wasn't what it seemed. She didn't want to call attention to the truth, to actually say who he was to her.

But when she did, it thrilled her beyond imagining. He was her daddy. She loved her daddy. She was fucking her daddy. She was fucking him, and she loved him.

Why shouldn't she say it? It was who he was, to her and to no one else. He loved her, and he protected her, and she loved him. He was her father, the only man in the world that she trusted. He was the only man that could be her father.

He was the only man in the world that she wanted to fuck her, now, and maybe forever.

"Please, Santa. Please, Daddy, please. Please, Daddy-Santa," she said.

She looked into his eyes, knowing her own were smoldering with a frightening, shameful lust. It was the first time they'd look at each other since they started, since he entered her, since she felt him inside of her.

She stared at him, silently pleading. He had to see how much she wanted him, totally and completely.

* * *

He couldn't resist her, even in something as wicked and wrong as this. He never could.

He lifted her easily as he rose from the chair. The weariness seemed to be gone from his body. There was certainly none in his cock. He knew that only fear, and apprehension, and concern had kept him at bay. It had kept him from coming inside his beautiful little girl.

But he couldn't resist her pleas. He lifted her. She straddled his girth and full belly as best she could, coffee colored legs wrapped around his waste, coffee colored arms locked around his neck, and coal black eyes locked on his.

He spun quickly, then lowered her gently into the recliner. They stayed locked at the hips, his cock firmly implanted inside of her, the whole time.

His bulk covered her. He strained to hold himself up above her.

"No, Santa. Don't be afraid. Smother me. Cover me. Fuck me."

She pulled him toward her, and he didn't resist. As easily as he could, he relaxed and put his weight on her. Her form disappeared under his mass, except for arms and legs wrapped around him, grasping and clawing and holding him close.

"Hammer me, Santa. Fucking hammer me into the fucking chair."

He forced her down into the recliner with his weight.

"Yes, Santa, yes, yes."

He pressed her harder into the cushions.

"Fuck, yes, Santa."

He thrust into her. He pulled out, then thrust back in. He fucked her, slowly and carefully at first, but deeply, pressing into her as hard as he could.

She begged for more. Her hands reached into his pants from behind, where her long fingernails dug into his ass.

He fucked her harder, and harder still. As much as he worried about hurting her, she screamed and begged for more, and he gave it to her. He gave her everything she asked for.

Her pussy was so tight, so hot and wet and tight. His cock was in a fiery heaven. Her body and face were so exotically beautiful. Her figure was so wonderfully full and soft and perfect. He felt the cum building in his balls. He felt an uncontrollable urge, a need, to fill her, his beautiful daughter, his perfect woman, with his cock and his seed and his love.

He hammered his little girl into the recliner with all of his bulk and strength and power and will.

* * *

She felt his excitement grow. She felt him lose control. He was so massive, she could barely breath. She had to time her breaths with his strokes, within that brief moment when he withdrew, just before he plunged back into her.

"Fuck me, Santa. Fuck me, Daddy. Fucking fuck me good, Daddy. Fuck your naughty little nice girl so fucking good."

At first she feared that her pleas would inhibit him, that he would stop and abandon her. She was afraid that calling him "daddy" would end their adventure. But it didn't. Quite the opposite, her cries excited him. Her begging spurred him on. As she called him "daddy," as she begged for more of his cock, he gave it to her with unbridled passion.

"Fuck, yes, Daddy. Fuck, yes. Fuck, yes."

"My beautiful little girl," he answered. "My perfect, beautiful little darling."

"Oh, fuck, Daddy, yes. Fucking yes, Daddy, fucking, fucking yes."

She had him, now. Like a customer in a lap dance, she knew she had him. He would tip over the edge at any moment.

"I fucking love you, Daddy," she whispered. "I fucking love you so fucking much."

"I love you, too, Baby, I love you too."

"I fucking love you, Daddy," she screamed into his neck. "I fucking, fucking love my daddy."

She pulled his lips down to hers, and for the first time since they started, he kissed her back. She kissed him, hard, and he kissed her, hard, and their tongues tangled and danced.

His body went crazy. He plunged into her with an unbelievable ferocity and power. He was so big, so strong, and now unstoppable. He hammered into her as he kissed her, driving his thick cock deep inside her, stretching her pussy to its limits.

* * *

He felt an uncontrollable power swelling in him. He hammered the magnificently sexual creature beneath him with all of his might, holding nothing back, crushing her beneath him. For her part, as massive as he was, as thoroughly as he pressed her into the recliner, she still moved. She bucked and wriggled, legs and arms clawing and grasping, as her throat screamed in high pitched, agonized squeals.

But he knew it wasn't agony he was causing her. He hadn't felt this in control, this powerful and confident, in years and years. He pumped her with the ferocity of a lion. He felt like the greatest lover any woman had ever known. She was beautiful, and she could have anyone she chose, but it was he that brought her to heights of pleasure few women had ever known.

He hammered out years of misfortune and frustration. His confidence swelled, as his own pleasure grew, and his own balls, and cock, swelled as they filled with cum. His own cock seemed to him to grow to an inhuman size as the shaft stiffened and filled with cum.

She felt it, too. He knew she felt it grow. Her frantic clawing stopped. She virtually froze beneath him, but her scream intensified into a horrible sound that could only be made by a battalion of whores being tortured to death.

A wave of guilt rushed over him. He was going to come inside his beautiful, perfect baby girl, but he couldn't stop himself. She wanted it. He wanted to do it.

He was the most powerful lover in the world, and he was going to empty years and years of his built up power and love into the sweet, exotic, sensual creature that he held pinned beneath him.

* * *

She felt him shiver, but it was more than a shiver. She felt him heave, like a new continent rising up from the ocean. He shuddered, clutching painfully at her shoulders as he held himself deeply inside of her.

He tried to say something, but nothing coherent came out. He groaned, and crushed her beneath him without restraint, as he emptied himself into her. Her covered her and filled her, as she clutched him tightly, pleased to have him, and to have been there for him.

Dahlia smiled happily under his massive weight as his strong, familiar lips closed on hers again.

* * *

She didn't know how long had passed, how long he had lain atop her as they both panted and recovered.

Her father rose up, to stand, staring at her. She looked at him dreamily, still lost in a fog of sensations and post orgasmic joy. He was sweating profusely from his exertions. It was all for her, his energy, his sweat, everything he'd done was for her. He'd given her an unmatched and unmatchable pleasure.

She didn't think any man could ever do that to her again, except for him.

His own face was panicked, though. He was fighting with himself. She could see it. She recognized guilt.

He reached down to pull up the Santa suit. He refastened the suspenders and the belt, then without a word he hustled to the door and out of the apartment, leaving her alone, feeling panicked and uncertain, afraid, confused and now regretful.

* * *

Once he was in the hall, and had shut the door behind him, he raced as quickly as he could down to the third floor, third apartment on the left, kitchen, third cabinet from the right. He swung open the door, then stared at the cookie tin and the plastic bottle.

The cookie tin held several thousand dollars, ones and fives, scrapped and scraped and squirreled away over the years. Soon, maybe with a few more months of scrounging meals from trash cans, it would be enough. The bottle held sleeping pills.

When the time came, his plan had been to give her the cash, for school, then to disappear, to find some quiet abandoned building somewhere, and take the pills, and take himself out of her life. He'd leave a note, saying goodbye, asking her not to look for him, telling her he was heading west. She could go to school, and move on, without him dragging her down and holding her back. She would be free, and happy.