Vignette - Little Bird

I push her thighs apart, opening her cheeks, and press my stiff tongue to her dark rosebud. Monica squeals, jerking and bucking as I tickle and prod at her anus.

"Fuck!" she cries out. "Nasty Daddy!" A delighted mirth is in her voice.

Back and forth between her pussy and her asshole, my mouth tongues and licks and sucks, seeking the pleasures that lift my daughter to new heights. Then I ease back down, taking time to nip lightly at the inner softness of her beautiful, toned thighs, or to the hollow where her legs meet her body.

While the tip of my tongue tends to her sensitive tushie, I fuck her with two fingers. Celeste was blessed with a particularly responsive g-spot. When I curl my fingers upward to find Monica's, she nearly shoots into orbit, slamming her feet down and arching up off the bed.

"Yes! Fuck!" she declares, her raspy tone reaching into a low, sultry register.

With only fleeting passes at her clit, I've been bouncing around, toying with her joy while I learn what makes her tick. Gradually, I begin to focus on the tight hood and its marvelous hidden passenger. The white head is beginning to show itself. She's nearly ready.

One last time, I dial back my efforts. As expected, she emits a weak, disappointed groan. That's what I wanted to hear.

It was Celeste who taught me how much of sex for a woman is in her mind, and not her body.

While my fingertip gently traces the engorged edge of Monica's labia, I peer up above her dark tangle.

"You are such a beautiful woman, Monica," I tell her, eliciting a coo of delight. "But you've never been more beautiful than you are right now."

She gasps softly. "Oh, Daddy..."

"Can you show me how my lovely my little girl is when she comes? Come for me, Monica."

"Oh, God..." she whimpers. "Y-yes, Daddy. Yes!"

With a light flick of my tongue over he clit—a promise of pleasures to come—I lower my mouth to her tight brown flower once more. My fingers work their way up to the soft pad inside her cunt, drawing slow circles while my tongue laps and probes at her back entrance. I can feel my daughter's excitement climbing higher toward the pinnacle— the way she moves, the tiny squeak she makes with each agitated breath, rising in pitch, and the frantic grasping at her breasts, the sheets, or anything within reach.

The machine-gun burst of hyperventilation is the signal I've been waiting for. At the same time as my fingertips press more firmly to her g-spot, I open my mouth and seize her soft buttock, biting down hard, just shy of drawing blood.

Monica screams in pain and pleasure, her head thrown back and fists waving in the air. Feminine liquor flows around my fingers deep inside her throbbing pussy. Her body shudders in waves.

Immediately, my pursed lips clamp around her clit, sucking rhythmically, and a single syrupy wet finger twists into her rectum. My tongue creeps out to flit up and down either side of the swollen morsel.

With a sudden, sharp indrawn breath, she arches up and snaps into rigor when a second clitoral orgasm overwhelms the first. Long seconds pass as my wonderful daughter basks in the flood of neural fireworks. She shivers when I kiss her clit softly. Then I lower my mouth to drink the outpouring of delicious nectar flowing from her fountain.

Slowly, Monica settles back to the sheets. She trembles with the aftershocks. Weak mewls rise up from her throat.

"Daddy...?" she whimpers, extending open arms toward me.

I climb above my daughter on all fours. She points to her lips, and I kiss her. She sucks at my lips, then licks her juices from my face.

"My God, how did you do that?" Monica says softly, gazing up with wonder in her eyes. When I cock my head, she says, "It was like you were inside me, listening to my body so you knew exactly what I needed."

Grinning, I kiss her again. I decide to let the years her mother trained me remain a mystery for now.

She says, "I've never had any man who was so in-tune with my pussy."

I wince at the thought of her lovers. It's the same feeling I got the night she called me long ago, crying after she lost her virginity. It was three in the morning on the east coast, but I consoled her, and we talked for over two hours. After we hung up—the disgusting father that I was—my hand wrapped around my raging hardness while I fantasized the way I would have unlocked my daughter's innocence.

Now Monica is lying underneath me, pleading, "Will you fuck me now, Daddy?"

My cock twitches at the sound of those decadent words. Reaching down, I place the crown at her slick seam, preparing to slide into her.

Suddenly, she throws a hand flat against my chest. "Don't make love with me like you did before, Daddy. That was sweet, but this time I want a good, hard fucking. Your daughter likes it hot and nasty."

Just like her mother.

Smoothing her dark, hair, I tell her, "I love you, Monica."

"I know you do, Dad. I've always known. But can you forget who I am for the next little while? Show me the way you would love Mom if she were here. Carte blanche."

My breath catches in my throat. "Where did you hear that?" I ask, although there is only one way she could have known.

With a teasing smile, she says, "A little bird told me."

It was a private signal between me and Celeste for a no-limits night of debauchery. But I'm not sure if Monica understands what that could entail. Sometimes, in those early years, the intensity of our sexual mania approached rape. I will have to dial it back for my daughter.

Leaning down, I press my lips to hers. It is not a soft kiss. It is demanding. My tongue forces its way through. She whimpers, yielding to the forceful intrusion.

My fingers weave into the hair at her nape. They tighten slowly. The sound coming from her is something between a whine and a moan. It excites that feral beast within me, pumping virility into my veins. My cock inflates, almost painfully.

Wedging a hand underneath, I flip her onto her belly. I had to roll her over. I couldn't look at my daughter's face and still give her what she's asking for. When I push her legs apart and crawl between them, she arches her back, throwing her ass up like a cat in heat.

I grin to myself. From this vantage point she looks exactly like my ex-wife. That's a convenient self-deception to help me through this.

On my knees, I wet my middle finger, then push it between her upturned cheeks, twisting it into her crinkled flower. She squirms and moans, wiggling her ass invitingly while I wrap her long, thick mane once around my fist.

When I've worked my finger in to the first knuckle, I hook it to tug her ass up to the right height. Using the firm hold on my daughter's hair, I draw her head back to its uncomfortably limits at the same time I sink my dick into her cunt. She is slippery, warm and inviting. My cock slides all the way in effortlessly.

Monica shudders and emits a breathy, "Fuck...yes..."

She shivers again, moaning, "Oh, Daddy..." when my cock moves inside her. A long string of drool falls from my lips into her crack, inciting yet another chilly reflex. I gather the fresh lube on my middle finger, then burrow it deeper into her rectum while I fuck her with long, slow strokes.

Her butt is scrumptious. The two rows of teeth marks are already turning a darker shade. If I'd thought about whose butt it was, I probably wouldn't have done that. The scents, the sounds, the way she moved—I reacted the way I would have twenty-five years ago. As it turns out, the similarities are more than skin-deep.

Picking up the tempo of my driving hips, I land a love-smack on my daughter's perfect bottom.

She yelps, then cries out, "Harder!"

Monica jerks and squeals with the handful of sharp, rapid slaps I lay on the side of her rump. Her pussy clenches my cock with each one.

I hear a sniffle. I didn't hit her that hard—certainly not nearly as hard as what I frequently gave her mother.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she whines.

Oh, God. What have I done...?

Withdrawing my finger from her ass, I relax my grip on her hair and start to pull my cock out. I should have known better than to take advantage of my little girl's fragile emotional state.

But she yells, "No!"

Her hand flies back to grab my wrist, holding it at her nape. She bends her knees, pressing her heels against my butt to keep me inside.

"Don't stop, Daddy! Please...whatever you do, don't stop!"

"What is it, sweetie?" I ask, caressing the pink splotches on her buns. "Why did you say you were sorry?"

"I should have waited," she says. Her voice is weak and scratchy. "I called you that night to apologize. The night I gave myself to someone else. As soon as it happened, I knew I'd made a mistake. But you were so nice and told me it was okay. I...I couldn't find a way to tell you how I really felt."

My heart is racing. Can she really be confessing a long-suppressed desire?

Monica says, "All those guys. I didn't love any of them."

"Not even Brian?" Not that I'm upset. I'd never been impressed with that pipsqueak she married.

"No. That's why we divorced. He knew there was only one man I had ever truly loved."

Do I dare ask the question that's been burning since before this morning's first light?

"Please, Daddy," she sobs. "I've been waiting so long. Don't stop now. Love me the way you loved Mom. Carte blanche, okay? Carte blanche!"

Tears are streaming down my cheeks, too. Slowly, I twist Monica's thick hair into my fist again. She moans painfully when I lift her by the hair, drawing her upright. Her back is deeply arched, her ass thrust back to keep her pussy lined up at an angle that holds me in. My arm goes around her chest to support her. I embrace a full breast.

I have to know.

Leaning forward, I whisper close to her ear, "Who is it, Monica? Who is the man you love?"

"It's you, Daddy. It's always been you," she whimpers. "I'm yours, all yours."

Oh, my fucking God.

She's weeping when she begs, "I need you to fuck me, okay? I promise we'll talk later."

My cock moves inside her, my crown pressing at the front of her pussy, right against her sensitive g-spot.

Monica gasps deeply, whispering "Fuck! Yes...!" She rotates her hips, rubbing my soft cockhead right where she needs it.

This was always one of Celeste's favorites. Apparently, it's her daughter's, too.

She shudders over and over as my slow, shallow strokes coax elated thrills from her pleasure center. Between fervent pleas to fuck her, she mutters profanities. She lays her hands on my hips, following the tiny thrusts that are lighting up her passions.

One arm is still curled around her chest, fondling those big, beautiful titties. I squeeze them, pinching and twisting her tiny, hard nipples, and scraping my fingernails on the soft underside the way her mother liked.

She grabs my other arm, slamming it against the side of her butt. It's a not-so-subtle hint. I start smacking her fanny—not too hard—in a slow rhythm, over and over, so the burn begins to build. After a dozen or so, I switch hands between her breasts and backside.

"Yes..." she sighs.

I keep fucking her, jamming my cock against the soft, spongy nerve center and abusing her tits and spanking her ass. Her whimpers have evolved into high-pitched squeaks, coming faster and faster.

"Is my little girl going to come for me?" I whisper.

"Y-yes, Daddy! It's so...so good. Don't...don't stop," she stammers breathlessly. Her fingernails are biting into my thigh.

"Now, sweetie," I tell her quietly. "Come for Daddy."

"Huh? I...I can't..."

Then my teeth bite into the slant of her shoulder.

Monica's orgasm erupts with a murderous scream. She reaches back over her head, grabbing a handful of my dwindling hair, yanking it by the roots. Her body snaps into silent, quivering tension. A flood of feminine come trickles down my cock, dripping off my balls.

With a weak whine, Monica begins to unwind. She shakes as tremors continue to roll through her body. My lips plant a row of soft kisses up the side of her neck, then I nibble gently on her earlobe.

"Good girl," I tell her.

Between short-winded gasps, she says, "Daddy...oh, Daddy..."

I lay her down gently, and she rolls onto her back, her arms open. Her hair is tousled, and beads of sweat line her forehead. Her face and chest are flushed. She's a goddess.

Stretching out on top of her, I'm resting on my elbows, nestled between my daughter's firm mounds. Our kiss is tender, heartfelt—a lover's kiss. My cock finds his new playground all by himself, and slips inside again.

"I didn't believe her," Monica says softly, gazing up with wonder in her eyes. When I cock my head, she explains, "Mom. She said you were the best lover she ever had. I didn't believe her. Now I understand."

Grinning, I kiss her again while my mind tries to assimilate the revelations of the last few hours. I don't know what my daughter expects from me. But I'm pretty sure this will not be our last coupling.

"C'mon, Dad. My nasty pussy is hungry for your come," she says.

She screeches, throwing her head back when I lunge hard, slamming my pubic bone against her bottom.

"Yes!" she cries out. "That's it!"

I ram into her again, evoking another powerful scream from my daughter. Monica rocks her hips up to meet me, and we bang our sexes into each other over and over while she urges me on with a raunchy litany.

"Fuck me, Dad! Yeah! Screw your slutty little girl! Give it to me! Harder! Show your whoring daughter how a real man fucks a woman! Yeah, Dad! Gimme that come! Harder!"

The decadence of our union is overpowering. I'm pounding her pussy in a desperate frenzy. My balls are beginning to boil. I notice that Monica's breaths are growing shorter, her entreaties becoming squeaky and disjointed.

Her eyes suddenly grow wide, her mouth dangling open.

"Daddy?" she whimpers weakly. "I...I think...I'm gonna...ohgod!"

She draws a sharp breath and arches up off the bed. The muscles in her cunt are fluttering around my cock. I can't stop the avalanche of joy. My nervous system short circuits, and I roar a loud, "Monica!" as the semen gushes through my shaft.

"Oh, God! Daddy! Yes! Yes!" Monica cries out as hot come spurts out of my cock, painting the walls of my daughter's pussy.

Exhausted, utterly drained, I collapse on the bed next to her. She turns to hug me. Tears are pouring from her eyes. She's grinning like the proverbial Cheshire.

She whispers, "I love you so much."

"I love you, Monica. More than you can imagine," I tell her. We kiss, holding each other close.

When I've recollected my senses, I look into her eyes.

"I need to know. What is it you want from me?"

"I want you to get dressed, so I can rip off your clothes and suck your dick until your cream is dribbling down my chin."

I roll my eyes with an exasperated sigh.

"But first," she says, "I think we both need a shower. And something to eat. I'm starved."

It's obvious I'm not getting anything out of her until she's ready to talk.

Monica leaps out of the bed. I watch that pretty pink ass—the one with a perfect imprint of my teeth—sway seductively toward the bathroom. She stops at the door, cocking her head at me.

"Are you coming?"

When I pull out my shaving kit, she makes me put it back.

"My legs want you to keep the whiskers," she says, rubbing the stubble-reddened patches on her inner thighs.

We shower together, touching and exploring each other's bodies. I'm ashamed of the size of my belly, but she kisses it and says she loves how it juts out just a little bit, but not enough to get in the way of my cock. I wash her incredible breasts. She says they're too big now. I reply that I love how they jut out, but not enough to get in the way of my cock. She laughs and promises a titty-fuck whenever I'm ready.

I ponder how long that promise is good for.

We dress and go downstairs to the hotel restaurant. It's a classy place, and my daughter is dressed to match. Her floral halter dress shows her deep cleavage without looking slutty. It is just long enough to show off the shape of her svelte legs accentuated by kitten heels. Her thick, curly hair is always magnificent, and her makeup demure.

Except another perfect set of teeth marks are clearly visible on her shoulder.

"Are you having the huevos rancheros?" I ask. It's a dish she learned to love out here in the west.

She suddenly looks like she's going to toss her cookies.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" I ask.

She nods. "Yeah, I'll be okay. Just no salsa. Not right now."

That's makes me curious. She's always loved tomatoes.

We order, and the waitress brings the coffee. We sip it quietly. I'm waiting for some answers, and she knows it. If I leave a space open, perhaps she'll fill it.

After a minute or so, she can't stand the silence any longer. "The lease on my apartment is up in two months. I thought about moving down to South Carolina. Our firm just opened an office near your house. Could I come stay with you?"

Furrowing my brow, I tell her, "Of course you can, sweetie. You don't even need to ask. You can stay as long as you want."

Her eyes twinkle. "As long as I want? What if I want to stay a really long time?"

"My house is your house. No limits," I tell her.

"Carte blanche, eh?" she snickers.

Lowering my brow, I emphasize, "That doesn't mean you're required to perform any 'special duties' to stay there."

I hope my meaning is clear.

"What if they're not duties?" she asks provocatively. "What if I need somebody around to give me a good spanking now and then? What if I consider gagging myself on your tool a privilege?"

My pants are suddenly much tighter around the inseam. But I need answers.

"Okay, what's going on? Come on. Out with it."

"I wasn't kidding, what I said before about the only man I love. It was Mom who clued me in."

"Celeste?" Now I'm really curious.

"The night after my divorce was finalized, Mom and I went out on the town. We got totally hammered. I made a comment that I didn't believe there were any truly good men anywhere. Mom said you were the only one she'd ever met."

"Celeste?" I repeat, astonished. "She told you that?"

Monica nods. "Like I said upstairs, she insisted you were the best she'd ever had. I remember that's when she got real quiet, staring at her martini. She wouldn't look at me. She said if I wanted a good man who loved me without question, I should spend some time getting closer to you."

"You mother suggested that you...and me...?" I glance around to see if anyone is paying attention. The two middle-aged women at the table next to us are a little too close.

My daughter smiles. "She was absolutely right, Steven. In every way."

She has never called me by my given name. Her eyes flit to ladies at the next table over. I nod, understanding.

Monica says, "After I thought about what Mom said, I finally figured out what killed my marriage. Brian had often accused me of having a lover. He was right. I didn't realize it at the time, but there was someone I loved more than I could ever love him. It was you, Steven. It was always you, for as long as I can remember."

"Monica, I'm sorry if I was the reason your marriage—"

"No!" she says emphatically. She takes my hand across the table, knitting our fingers together. "It wasn't your fault. It's just the way things are. If it's okay with you, I'd like to keep it this way."

"Do you mean...?"

She smiles happily and nods. "No limits. Isn't that what you said?"

My head is spinning. What she's suggesting is crazy. I can't even imagine how it would work. My feeble brain hasn't even adjusted to what happened over the last few hours.

Monica says quietly, "She never stopped loving you."

"What? You mean your Mom?"

"She didn't love Tom. He adored her, and she stayed with him because he loved her like crazy. He was good to her. She thought you hated her for what she did."