Vestige

For a moment, I wavered as well, for I was about to hurt her. Granted, the pain would be necessary, and hopefully the pain would be short-lived, but still, I was about to hurt her.

"Please," Sandra whispered, reaching up to stroke my face as I was poised over her, "make me yours."

I readied myself, pressing my dripping sex to hers. The contact caused us both to moan softly, and when I purposely brushed my tip up and down her wet womanhood, she shuddered again, parting her legs a bit more, reaching up to grip my upper back. Several times, I slid against her clitoris, noting how her shudders caused her breasts to quiver sweetly and her hips to move subtly against me. With her eyes closed, I could not see if the nervousness was still present or if it had retreated to the recesses of her mind.

At last, with a soft groan matched my a loud moan, I pressed into her. Finally, despite my original misgivings in the days leading up to this moment, I was making love to my own daughter. This was the time, this was the moment which would truly mark her eighteenth birthday, which would eternally seal our love beyond the familial. With short strokes, I helped her body to yield to me, to accommodate me, to prepare for its violent transformation, several times pressing against her girlhood as if in inadvertent reminder that she was about to be torn from her childhood and cast into the world of adulthood.

The birds chirped loudly, the sun shone brightly, and the music played soothingly as the final vestige of my daughter's girlhood was violently shredded. "Daddy!" she shrieked with a tone of pain, her fingernails digging deep into my flesh and making me groan loudly through gritted teeth. I throbbed inside her as her body involuntarily clenched me tightly in an instinctive effort to nullify the pain.

While it pained me to see the tears begin to spill down Sandra's cheeks, her expressive eyes displayed a love so profound that I believe I stopped breathing for just a moment. When she pulled me down to kiss me, I knew that she was at peace with what we had just done, with the unavoidable violation and the required pain. She was no longer a girl, yet in that moment of transformation, she had called me "Daddy," affirming our respective roles in society even as that very moment shunned all that society had taught us both over the years.

I made love to my daughter, each thrust forcing a combination of her desire and her blood to spill from her body. The pink fitted sheet was quickly sullied as our love was solidified. I ground against her clitoris, I kissed her lips, I tweaked a nipple, I whispered words of adoration into her ear, I stroked her hair, I varied the angles and depths of my penetrations... Using every trick and nuance I had honed with her mother over the previous twenty-one years, I tried to make this most unique event one which Sandra would truly never forget.

*****

For dinner, Sandra wanted to go to a local seafood restaurant. It was just after the waitress had brought us our meal when my wife finally asked, "How was it?"

I blushed heavily, which caused Shelly to giggle and someone at a nearby table to widen his eyes in surprise. For her part, Sandra said something which I had never thought I would hear coming from my daughter's lips:

"You are indeed a lucky woman, Mama."