Sins of the Father
Ah, sport, an escape from the daily worries of being a husband and a father. I've always preferred soccer; it's not as brutal as some sports and less monotonous as others. In my youth I even joined a local team and fared quite well. Though I say it was good teamwork, they always said it was because of me that the team won the cup each year. Maybe I gave the rest of the team a boost in moral somehow. Who's to say really?
Sitting back on the middle of the three-seater couch, I turned on the TV and flicked to the sports channel. Manchester United was winning... again. I couldn't help but smirk as memories of my own team's continued victories came back to me. They were quickly erased as my daughter dumped herself across my lap like a sack of potatoes.
"Oof!"
"Sorry, Daddy," Nell said. She was a good girl, never got into any serious kind of trouble. I like to think that my wife and I were doing well at raising her. We hoped she would stay the same through her teen years which were not far away.
With the minor and temporary distraction passed, I returned my thoughts to the TV and the soccer game on it, my ten year old daughter lying across my lap like some dead animal. Briefly, I looked down at her. She lay on her stomach reading a book and had on a light green skirt that reached a third of the way down her thighs and a pink T-shirt with "sexy" written on the front. Absently, I rested my right hand on her left leg, just above the knee.
The minutes ticked by as I watched the game. My daughter laying across my lap barely seemed to exist, except for a slight numbing sensation in my legs. Though her body was slender and she didn't weigh a great amount, she had been lying there for near forty-five minutes now. I glanced down at her again, this time for longer. I admired her, the way any father admires his daughter. This is my child, I brought her into this world, I thought to myself with a smile. As I took in the sight, my hand gently, gradually, very slowly began to creep up her thigh. She didn't stir. Nell had her head resting on her crossed arms and her eyes were closed. Was she asleep? I wondered. My hand crept higher, one millimetre at a time.
Suddenly, I realised that my hand was over half way up her thigh. I could no longer see my own fingers; they were hidden beneath her skirt. Her skin felt so soft and smooth on my pads. Her thigh was well rounded and supple, like her mother's. My hand crept higher. That's when I noticed that my heart was racing and a sensation was coursing through my body. What was it? I tried to define the feeling. Fear. Excitement. No! This is my daughter, what am I doing? I mentally scolded myself. But I could not tear my hand from my daughter's leg, as if they were both fused together on a molecular level.
I looked at the TV but my eyes didn't see the moving pictures on its glass surface. My breathing began to grow rapid as my hand continued its ascent up my young, innocent daughter's thigh. Suddenly my eyes went wide and my heart skipped a beat. She wasn't wearing any underwear. My thumb pressed against her round butt, caressed it even and my fingers slid up the middle of her legs as far as they would go. A voice in the back of my mind screamed "What are you doing!?" but I could not hear it, something was blotting out all other senses. Nothing seemed to exist except the feel of my daughter's smooth thigh and butt against the pads on my hand.
My hand crept higher still. Moving from my daughter's thigh to her butt, my thumb still massaging her cheek as my fingers began to slip between her legs. That's also when I became aware of the bulge in my pants, sticking up into my daughter's lap. She still hadn't moved. Had she not noticed?
My palm now rested fully on Nell's rear as my fingers slipped deeper between her legs. I was barely even aware of them parting slightly, allowing my fingers unhindered access. As her long Leopard tail that was her inheritance from me curled against my jaw, my middle finger found her soft, supple lips and stopped. This is my daughter's vagina, I thought. I'm touching my daughter's vagina, my finger is pressing against the lips of my own daughter's sex.
As the gravity of my realisation set in, my excitement seemed to increase ten-fold. Somewhere, buried deep beneath my arousal, a voice constantly repeated one word over and over, "Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!" but it went unheard. My finger moved again, pressing forward, sliding down against the groove of my daughter's smooth virgin folds.
Though I heard it, it did not register to my mind. A slight moan escaped my daughter's lips as my middle finger moved against her sex. My mind seemed as though it had been turned off. I no longer controlled my actions. The tip of my finger slowly, firmly rubbed the base of my daughter's lips.
"Daddy..." I froze. Excitement fled from my body and was replaced with terror. Nell's voice was soft, distant even, as though she were asleep. The tip of my finger was pushed between her warm, wet folds and I could feel my erection pulsing with desire beneath her body. "That feels nice."
Instantly I was in control again. I removed my hand, tearing it away from my daughter's body as though it were on fire.
"Get off," I said calmly but firmly. "Go to your room." I didn't even look at her; my eyes were fixed on the TV that now had on it a commercial about breakfast cereal. Nell obediently got off, and though I didn't see her face, I could tell by the way she moved that she was upset. She silently turned from me and made her way to the lounge room door that led into the hallway.
"And put on some underwear," I said as an afterthought.
When she was gone, I realised I'd been holding my breath. I relaxed. It was as though I had inhaled all the air in the room and held onto it for an hour. My heart pounded in my chest and my cock withered with the sensation of being denied release. I forced myself not to think about what had just happened. Sitting there, I tried to continue as if nothing had happened. But for some reason, I could no longer focus on anything. Should I go and talk to her? I wondered. Should I explain to her that it was wrong? She might think she did something wrong. Or is she upset that I stopped? Maybe I should... NO! Don't think that! What is wrong with you!? Sitting forward, I buried my head in my hands.
"I'm home," Alexia called out as she walked in the front door. I literally fell of the couch at the sound of my wife's voice. Quickly getting up, I glanced around nervously, wiping my finger in my pants. Thank god my wife was human; she wouldn't smell the scent of our daughter's juices on my finger.
Alexia worked at the local hospital so she usually got home late. That night was no exception. Though she didn't seem to notice it, there was a slight tension between myself and my daughter at the dinner table. I avoided looking at her and even when I gave her a hug goodnight, my touch and words were hesitant. I tried to relax, hoping that sleep would ease my mind.
It didn't.
She lay on the bed with her hands by her head. Looking up at me she shifted slightly, lifting one knee and twisting her body just a little, seductively. I looked down at her naked body with hungry eyes. Her smile was playful and innocent, but also provocative at the same time. Her short brown hair contrasted with the pale pink sheets of the double bed. Those same sheets seemed to accentuate her light, creamy skin. My gaze slowly trailed down her body. She was only ten, but already her breasts were beginning to form. Small, barely noticeably mounds of supple flesh beginning to push their way forth from her chest; they were going to be large, like her mother's.
I was above her, floating, and as I lowered, my eyes continued further down her body. At the sight of her hips I felt my heart begin to pound. Then I was lying next to her, naked myself. I touched my fingers gently to her thigh. She looked into my eyes with passion and want. My fingers moved between her thighs and slowly slid higher. As I touched her folds she gasped for a moment and I leaned down to kiss her.
So casual were my actions that she might have been my wife and not my ten year old daughter. I felt no shame, no hesitation, only desire and love. I slid my fingers out from her legs against her folds, rubbing her clitoris as I did. Then I pushed them back in, my middle finger slipping into her body. Her blue eyes closed as a moan escaped and I kissed her neck. Nell pushed her palm against my bare chest, taking a moment to feel my soft fur. Then she slid it downwards to my erection.
With my daughter's fingers wrapped around my length, I leaned closer to her. As I planted tender little kisses on her chest, she rolled on her side, pushing her body towards mine. The tip of my shaft touched her lap and I removed my hand from between her legs. I slid my fingers over her hip and grasped her arse then gently pulled her closer, my penis sliding between her legs.
"Daddy..." Nell moaned as I licked her nipples.
Rolling onto my back, I pulled my daughter on top of me and she sat up. Then she shifted back a little as she raised her hips. I took hold of my erection and positioned it just beneath her body. Slowly, she lowered herself on to me and I watched as the tip of my cock vanished between the wet lips of her innocent vagina.
I quivered with excitement at the touch, my eyes feasting on the sight between Nell's legs. Slowly, her body swallowed more of mine. Then she paused for a moment before letting herself fall swiftly, crying out in pleasure. I felt it, my shaft penetrating my own daughter, breaking her hymen and stealing her virginity as she bore the full length of her father's cock.
I sat up with such a fright that I almost fell off the couch again. I'd moved there after tossing and turning in bed, failing to get to sleep. My chest felt as though I had been running nonstop for days. I breathed deeply, trying to calm my nerves and stop my heart from pounding. Sighing, I looked around the lounge room. Everything looked the same. I tried to shake the dream from my head, but I couldn't. Perhaps something to eat will help, I thought.
I pushed back the thin blanket and stood up. Going into the kitchen, I took from the cupboard some bread, and butter from the fridge. As I spread the butter on the bread, the dream began to fade from my mind, much to my relief. But as I sat at the table, other images filled my mind.
These images were unlike the dream. They were vivid, realistic. As I lay on the couch, surrounded by the darkness of night, Nell straddled my body, my length reaching deep into hers as she gyrated her hips. I groped her developing breasts as her back arched then she fell forward and screamed into my chest in euphoria, my fur muffling her cries, as I grasped her rear and filled her insides with my warmth.
But were these images fabrications of my imagination or memories? I hoped I would never find out.