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My Daughter Sally's love was all I had to show for a bad marriage.
My daughter, Sally is a pretty girl. She is also shy, and managed to get through high school without having a real date. Her only close friend was Susan. Once, Susan arranged for the same boy to take both of them to a school dance. Sally wanted to go. She was also nervous about it, and almost relieved when the boy got the flu, and could not attend. Susan came over, and spent the night with my daughter.

Like many girls, Sally feels self conscious about her weight. Susan, who dated several boys in high school, has the pencil thin body of a professional model, and a face to go with it. Sally is what they call in Yiddish, “zaftig.” She is buxom, rather than fat, with large breasts, and a waist that is much thinner than her full, rounded hips. I liked to show her pictures of German beer maids to try to convince her that many men preferred women like her, but I was unconvincing, because boys did not ask her for dates. Her face is not as beautiful as her mother’s, but pretty in the same way, and with a shy smile that I wished she would show the world more often.

Susan tried to get a boy friend to ask Sally to the senior prom. It did not work out. Susan went with another boy. At the dinner table, the night of her senior prom, Sally did not feel like talking. She ate quickly, and went to her bedroom, and closed the door. When I saw her several hours later, I could tell she had been crying.

While this was happening, my marriage was crumbling around me. My wife was beautiful. When we got married I thought I was the luckiest man in the world. My wife did not think she was as fortunate. Our relationship was always more important to me than to her. When my career did not go anywhere, my wife did not let me forget it. The fact that I worked hard at a job I did not like for a boss who did not like me did not matter to her. She valued results, not effort.

When my wife found a man whose career was zooming into the stratosphere, she at first tried to hide the affair from Sally and me. Then, she did not care. Finally, she flaunted it.

My wife sued for divorce. I did not even contest it. What was there to contest? I still loved her. She wanted out. I did not want to keep her if she did not want to stay.

Unfortunately, I made the mistake of not hiring a lawyer. Because my wife hired a good one, she got the house, and most of our joint bank account. All I had left from twenty years of marriage were a few good memories, a larger number of bad ones, a car dying of old age, our smaller TV, an old radio, my clothes and books, some furniture for my apartment, and the love of my daughter.

After she graduated from high school, Sally got a job at a department store, and continued to live with her mother. I was afraid my ex-wife’s lover would put the moves on Sally, but Sally told me that she despised him, and made that as clear as she could without saying anything.

For Sally’s eighteenth birthday, she and I decided that we would go to a restaurant to celebrate, and she would sleep over. It would be the closest thing she had ever had to a date. Except for courting my ex-wife, I had not dated anyone for over two decades. I had not even thought about other women after the divorce. That had pretty much kicked the wind out of me.

When I picked up Sally at what used to be my home, my ex-wife greeted me with chilly courtesy. I was glad her new lover was not there. Sally looked charming, with a blue floral dress that beautifully draped curves I tried not to admire, and a small suit case for the night over.

As we walked from my car to the restaurant, several men looked at my daughter with admiration, and me with envy. I opened the restaurant door for Sally, as though she was my girl friend, and we were soon seated. An elegantly clad waiter came over and asked, “Will you be ordering drinks?”

I said, “We are celebrating my daughter’s eighteenth birthday. I would like to look at a wine list, please.” Eighteen was the legal drinking age where we lived.

“I will need to look at your identification,” the waiter said to Sally. When she showed him her driver’s license, he said, “Yes, indeed. Happy birthday.”

I took out my driver’s license and showed it to the waiter too. “She really is my daughter, I promise.”

He smiled. “Of course, sir.”

When the waiter came back with the wine list, I said, “Give it to the birthday girl. She is the guest of honor.”

Sally looked at the list. After the waiter left, she said, “I don’t know anything about wine, Daddy, you choose.”

I looked at the list, and decided on a bottle of Kendall Jackson cabernet sauvignon. When the waiter returned with a bottle of the wine, two glasses, and an opener, he said, “In honor of your daughter’s birthday, this is on the house.”

“Oh, wow, thanks a lot,” Sally said giggling.

With a great deal of ceremony, the waiter opened the wine glass, and poured a small amount of wine in a glass for me to sample. I tried to play the role, as though I was used to this, but could not help saying, “You sure do this better than Rick at my neighborhood tavern. This is excellent, thank you.”

I ordered steak. Sally ordered a pasta dish. “A place like this makes me want to forget my diet,” she said.

“The men who admired you as we walked here did not think you needed a diet,” I said.

We each drank two glasses of the cabernet. When we were finished, Sally said, “That wine really went to my head, but I want one more.” We decided on two glasses of port.

We returned to my apartment in time to watch “Casablanca,” which by fortuitous chance was playing on the HBO channel.

When we were inside, Sally said, “I feel drowsy from all that wine. I don’t know if I want to stay awake for the whole movie. I think I will get into my pajamas.” She took her suit case into my bed room to change, only to return several minutes later with an embarrassed look on her face. “I wanted to get out of that house so fast that I forgot to pack my pajamas. All I have is a bath robe.”

“All I have for you is a t shirt,” I said.

“That’s fine, Daddy.”

Several minutes she came out of my bed room wearing nothing but my t shirt, and panties. I tried not to look too hard at her buxom figure, asked, “Shouldn’t you be wearing your bath robe?”

“You’re my daddy, so it doesn’t matter. If someone comes to the door, I’ll put it on.”

“If someone comes to the door, I want you to stay out of sight.”

“You’re being silly, Daddy, but I will.”

When we sat on my sofa to watch the movie, Sally snuggled close to me. I should have told her not to put her arm around my shoulder, but I did not. I should not have enjoyed the smell of her perfume, but I did.

When the movie was half over, Sally said, “I want another glass of wine. Do you have any?”

“Isn’t three enough?” I asked.

“It’s my birthday. I’m old enough to drink now. Aren’t you glad I’m not the kind of daughter who drank my way through high school?”

“Yes, and I’m glad you didn’t get pregnant, too. You said you were getting drowsy.”

“I’m not anymore.”

I should have told her that there was no wine in the apartment, but she may have found it during her visit, and detected my lie. “It’s in the cabinet next to the refrigerator.”

Sally squeezed me affectionately. “Thanks, Daddy.” When she got up and walked to the kitchen, I tried not to admire her delicious bottom. When she walked back with an open wine bottle, and two glasses, I tried not to notice that her nipples were erect with arousal, and pointing through my t shirt. I hoped she would not notice that my penis was also erect.

After we had another glass of wine, I made a bed for Sally on the sofa. Before I walked to my bedroom, she hugged me, and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks for everything, Daddy,” she said, “This has been the most wonderful birthday of my life.”

I walked into my bedroom, closed the door, got into my pajamas, and climbed into bed, trying not to acknowledge how aroused I was by my own daughter. A half hour later, I had not gone to sleep yet, and she knocked on my door. “Yes, sweetheart,” I said.

She opened the door. “Daddy, do you remember when I was a little girl, and you let me crawl into bed with you when I was sad or scared?”

“It seems like only a few weeks ago,” said. “You grew up so fast.”

“May I do it again?”

I should have refused, but I did not. She climbed into bed, and kissed my cheek, “Thanks, Daddy.” Then she kissed my lips.”

“Why did you do that?” I asked.

“I’ve never kissed anyone on the lips before. Someday I want to have a boy friend.”

“I am your father. Remember that.”

“Of course, Daddy,” she said. Then she kissed me again.

It may have been the wine. It may have been my loneliness. It may have been the pain from my divorce. My ex-wife was the only woman I had ever been with. For years we had done it rarely, and in a perfunctory manner. Now I was with an attractive and shapely girl who loved me as much as I loved her. It was not my fault that she was also my daughter. Losing my reluctance, I kissed her several more times, and put my hand under the t shirt she was wearing, feeling her back, and marveling at her softness and warmth. I had half hoped she would pull away from that, but she held me closer, and began kissing more passionately. I moved my hand in front, and began fondling her breast. She said, “This t shirt is getting in the way,” and removed it.

After fondling my daughter’s breasts, and kissing her nipples, I pulled away, and said “Sally, I’m enjoying this too much. We should not be doing this.”

“Yes we should. It’s my idea. I have cried so many times thinking about what Mom did to you. I love you very much, and I want you to feel good again.”

I put my hand into her panties, and felt her delicious cheeks. She bent her hips. This time I was the one to remove her panties. Her vagina was dripping with lubrication. She unsnapped my pajama bottoms, and removed my erect penis. I still tried to resist. She squeezed my penis, saying, “Oh, Oh.”

“Do you want it?”

“Yes I do.”

“The pain I’ve gone through with Mom increases my desire for you,” I said.

Sally lay on her back, spread her thighs, and said, “Don’t talk. Just do it.”

I tried to enter her, but her vagina was tight, and her hymen was hard. When I could tell I was hurting her, I stopped. “I can’t do this, it’s wrong.” She began to cry softly. I kissed a tear, and asked, “Did I hurt you very much?”

“You hurt me because you stopped. I have a confession to make. I did not forget my pajamas. I planned all of this. I want you to, Daddy.”

This time I did not stop, but pushed hard into my daughter’s vagina, breaking her hymen, and going deep into where no man or boy had gone before. I could tell that her first intercourse was continually painful, and I had been aroused for so long, so I soon ejaculated. My orgasm was long and intense. I pulled out, and got a wash cloth to wipe away my daughter’s virginal blood, and my life’s fluid. “I feel guilty,” I confessed, “but I could not stop myself.”

She kissed me again. “Thank you, thank you so much. This is the way I always thought it would be.”

We slept in each other’s arms. When we woke up the next morning, I had an erection. When Sally noticed that, she held my penis, and said, “Put it in. Put it in.”

I did. This time she was not in pain, and I was able to last long enough to bring her to several orgasms. The love in her eyes was so different from the dutiful expression my wife would have had. Sally’s final orgasm happened the same time as mine. When we were finished, she hugged me, saying, “That was so wonderful. I always wanted my first time to be perfect. This was.”

“The love I feel for you as a father is now joined with my love for you as my mistress,” I said.

Sally cooked an excellent breakfast for us, remaining completely naked. My eyes drank in her youth, and her resemblance to my ex-wife. “You are not one bit too chubby,” I told her, “just soft, and shapely, and beautiful.” She walked over to thank me with a kiss. After breakfast, Sally sat on my lap. As I kissed her and fondled her magnificent breasts, I told her, “If you are pregnant, we’ll say you had a boyfriend who left you. You can move in and we’ll raise the child together."

“I just had a period, so I don’t think I’m fertile. Can I come back again for this?”

“Of course, Baby. Next time we won’t be so careless. We must make sure no one ever knows.”

Sally felt to see that I had another erection, and said, “Let’s do it again.”

Anonymous readerReport

2014-07-20 02:44:47
You should really tell us more about Sally's mother, her mother's lover (doesn't he have a name?) and her father, and how the three of them influenced her decision to seduce her father. We also need to know more about Sally's character. Cunnilingus, fellatio and coitus are inevitably part of the story, but the art of storytelling or story-writing lies in showing why these people acted as they did.

anonymous readerReport

2011-08-17 21:14:02
No emotion ... just a mechanical set of actions strung together.

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