The Historian

I.

Expecting the power to go off at any time, now, I'd finished the last of the document scanning to DVD. All the 'special' packages had been sent to California.

The doorbell took me by surprise: as the town's new-minted pariah, the last thing I expected was a visitor. I got up from the table I was using for a desk, down the hallway, crossed over the spot where the fire-bomb had burned and went over to answer it.

Standing outside was a pretty brunette, her face obscured partly by shadow, and partly by a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes. Looking just past her, I saw a little sporty car, a 2-door. One I'd never seen before in town.

Opening the door, and starting to say, "Yes?," I was staggered to hear the girl say, "Hi, Dad."

"Sophie?," I kind of chocked out.

"The one and only," she said, and grinned. I remembered that grin. 100 watts of power, and her mother had never been able to erase it, though Dolores had tried hard.

"Is Mom home?" my daughter added.

I answered truthfully, "Your Mom won't ever come back to this house again."

The grin went up to 150 watts immediately. "Thank God for big favors," she said, "I really dreaded meeting up with her, but I just HAD to see you again, and here I am. You gonna let me in, or am I gonna sleep in the flowerbed tonight?"

I know I'm supposed to guess accurately and describe my brunette daughter, gone for years from mid-teens, by exact weight, height, bra and cup size, etc. Give me a break! I had a quick chance to glance at a slim, tanned and toned brunette, wearing a short denim skirt and a crop-top, bare-midriff, and high-heel sandals. I saw the usual pretty bumps on her chest, nice hips and lovely long legs. Being a man, that took all of 2 seconds.

I'm Noble Goode Freeman, Ph.D., a former university historian. Also former cuckold, accused-homosexual, impotent, wimp, ne'r-do-well, unemployable, child-raping, fraud-indicted failure of a human being, if you listened to the hysterical gossip spread around town, the last couple of months. I'm tall, about six-foot-two, but not athletic, with a middle-aged gut that I'd like to loose, if I ever get around to exercising, which I hate with a passion. For the last 24 years, I'd had the sexless, loveless, marriage-from Hell, barely existing in helpless hatred, wedded to Dolores Ramona Luisa Daemona Freeman, nee-Guzman.

My daughter, Sophia Freeman Noble, aged about 20, had just swayed into my front room, after a self-imposed absence of 4 years. She left, with my tearful blessings, when she was 16. But I'm getting ahead of this narrative.

I gestured her in to the old living room, with the battered couch and two chairs, all that was left after the vandalism. She looked around at the bare spaces, and at the plywood panels that graced most of the front window panes that overlooked the street, more sudden memories of the sudden township dislike I'd been living with these last couple of months. She stared at the charred and melted circle where the fire had been, too.

I turned around, just in time to absorb a chaste, daughterly kiss on the cheek. I growled, but also grinned, saying, "OK for a 'hi, how are you, Dad' kiss. I just said your Mom wasn't here and won't be coming back. You haven't seen me for four years. How about I get a real kiss, like the one you gave me when you left on the bus?"

The grin expanded to 200 watts, and included a devilish tint, and I found myself on the receiving end of a thorough, wet, sloppy kiss, delivered with full tongue, combined with roaming hands slipped under my t-shirt, with full body press and one leg brought up to crook around my waist. This went on for quite some time.

"Wow," I said, when she broke the kiss, for more air."

"Lots more, where that came from, you dirty old man."

She added, "Hi, Dad. I'm glad I'm home, with you. Just you."

"For as long as the electricity's on," I kind of whispered to myself. She quirked her eyebrows, but I didn't add anything right then.

Sophie dashed out to her car, and dragged in two suitcases, which she then carried in to the back of the house, and re-parked her car around back. When I caught up with her, she'd dumped both in the master bedroom. Silently, we toured the house, which didn't take long, it being a typical 3-bedroom rancher, in a small town. Sophie's old bedroom was full of junk and wreckage that her mother had done, during her last rages, and I was using the 2nd room as an office.

"I'll rig up some kind of a bed for me, and you can have my bed," I said.

"Damn right, I will," she said, "and you can have it too, you old pervert. I'll take the right side, you take the left side, and we'll have meetings in the middle. And that settles that. End of discussion!"

Sophie marched out of the master bedroom, hips swinging exaggeratedly, flashing me a look over her shoulder. I was left sort of stuttering, "um ... er ... well ...."

I joined her in the living room, and we talked. About what? Just about everything. What I'd been doing. Old memories of my wife, her Mom. She was sort of evasive about her job as secretary and girl-Friday to an executive in MegaCorp, in Las Vegas.

And I was just as evasive about her Mom's current whereabouts, and why there was plywood in some of the front windows, and a big charred-melted spot in the front room carpet. I figured I'd have to tell her about that, but, oh, not yet, not yet.

The afternoon and early evening slipped away in chit-chat. After all, my only daughter had been gone for four years, with only brief letters and cards, sent to the town's Post Office General Delivery. Not to the house, because her Mom would have latched on to them, torn them up or tried to use them as leverage with me.

Perhaps you've guessed that I had had a hate-filled, sexless marriage for years. For decades. You'd be right.

We both ran down, and just sat. I fixed her a simple meal, soup and sandwiches. I pitched the kitchen waste onto the growing pile out the back door, since no one would do trash removal any more. I kept my fingers crossed that we'd still have electric service for a couple more days.

We both ran down and stopped, as night came on, and we both settled down in companionable silence. The TV Cable service had been shut off for a couple of weeks, but we didn't miss it. I had my hands over the back of the couch, and Sophie relaxed into my side. She turned her head and smiled a little, reached up and back, clasped my hand and drew it down over her shoulder, and then settled back with a sigh.

She snuggled around some, which I liked, and then she turned, reached her head and body up, and kissed me again. Lots of tongue again, which I also liked. The girl liked to kiss at 16, and she hadn't changed at all. But, as she settled back into my side, my hand was maneuvered, oh-so-carefully, to cup her breast. I stiffened, of course, and waited for the firm push and the exclamation of outrage. It didn't come.

What I did hear was, "mmmm, I like that, Dad. Squeeze a little, would you?"

I looked down at my daughter, and raised my eyebrow, and she responded with an other , "mmmm. Feels good, Dad. Don't be afraid, I'm not mad. Squeeze. Don't stop."

So I squeezed a beautiful handful of lovely, young-woman, pretty brunette, daughter's breast flesh. And again. And again. Under my palm, I felt a hard point develop and start to rise, poking out.

Again, I looked down, and watched my lovely, newly-returned daughter take several deep breaths, eyes half closed. She crooned, "ah, that feels so good. I like your hand there. Don't move it. Don't stop. Yeah, squeeze harder. Massage me, Dad."

Then she added, "Dad, my nipple is hard. Pinch it, pull on me a little. Look down and watch yourself doing it. Mmmmm... Please, Dad."

So I started to seriously massage her breast (the right one, I should say), and got my fingers around her nipple. My penis was getting hard, I couldn't control it. I pulled lightly, pinched and twisted a little, hearing little soft cries and moans.

Sliding my hand around her crop top, I started looking for the outlines of a bra, and didn't find one. Sophie must have read my mind, or maybe the motions of my hands. She said, between moans, "Ah, like that, just like that. I don't have a bra on. Mmmm, damn, you're good. I almost never wear one, don't need it. Mmmmm, come on, Dad, you like what you're looking at, work on the other one, too."

Sophie slid down and half rolled over, relaxing across my lap, back arched, and breasts straining upwards. I dropped my other hand over her left breast, and started to make love to it, as well.

Make love? I'm not dumb, I know I was making out—heavy petting, we used to call it—with my daughter. My erection was straining out of my trousers, and she must have been able to feel it.

She did, as she crooned, "Mmmm, my tits like you, very much. I'm bare under my top. Mmmmm, yeah, my nips love your fingers. Pull off my top, I want you to feel me bare. Mmmmm, yeah, you're hard. I like that. Gasp, groan. I almost never wear panties, either. Mmmmm, yeah, that's it, pull, get it, umph, yeah, over my head. Mmmm. I'm shaved bare, too."

Then my daughter, now bare to the waist, ordered me, "Dad, don't look away. Look down at me. See me, really see me. See me really liking the feel of your hands on my body. Mmmm, yeah, that's so good. Look at me enjoy what you're doing. Don't stop."

Sophie reached down, and pulled up her denim mini-skirt. She had no panties. She was bare, and shaved smooth. "Damn you, look at me! I want you. I want to be your lover. Put your hard penis into your daughter, before she explodes. I want to go into the bedroom, right now, and then I want you to take me, have sex with me. Then I can sleep with you, and then I'll wake you up, and then you can have me again. Lots of times. Dad, don't say no. Please don't say no."

She squirmed out of my lap, stood up, and in a couple of quick motions, dropped her skirt to the floor, and kicked it over to join her top, now residing at the edge of the couch. She walked away toward the hall and master bedroom, bare ass swaying and curving.

I staggered in there about a minute later. It had been a long time since I'd last had any man-inside-woman sex, and my aroused lust was almost painful. I found my daughter, sandals kicked off, laying on my bed—our bed—completely stretched out and so beautifully nude and available that I nearly cried.

She gestured, and my shirt and trousers, socks and underwear drifted off my body, somehow, because I didn't remember taking them off. My cock was standing out straight, jerking with each pulse of my heart, a drop of clear pre-cum forming on the tip. There was no possible way I was going to not take this beautiful girl, penetrate her, have sex with her, daughter or no.

I slowly walked over to her, and stood over her. The drop of pre-cum fell off my cock, and oozed onto to her right breast, where she slowly, very deliberately massaged the slippery liquid into her skin.

I started to ask, "Are you sure...," when she shushed me, demanding, "I want this. I want it right now. I want my father's huge erect incest-driven penis inside of me. I want you in deep. I want to feel you move inside me. I want you to use me for sex. I want to be on my back, looking up. I want to be looking at you, looking down at me, while you fuck your daughter. I want you to cum inside of me. Do it. Do me. Right now!"

She reached up, and pulled on my shoulders, drawing me down into her suddenly open thighs. My cock came to rest on her pussy lips. I raised my hips a little, and her hot hand guided the tip of my cock into her opening.

She was wet—no, that was like saying the ocean was wet. She was drenched, oozing with slippery lust. I thrust with my dry cock, and it slid halfway into her. Withdrew a little, and thrust again, feeling my cock seat itself to the limits of both our bodies.

Two thrusts, and I was buried to the hilt inside my daughters pussy.

She groaned, long and deep, in her throat, eyes squeezed shut, and then let her breath out in a long sigh. She whispered, half-voiced, "Oh, Dad, that was perfect. You belong inside me. I'm going to get so much sex from you. Ah, yeah, you're not moving. Just let me feel your cock in me. Let me look up at you. Oh, yeah, you're really focused. OK, start to fuck me. Just a little. Yeah, in and out, in and out, that's it. That's real fucking. I need you inside me so much. You need to be inside me, fucking me. Work your hips. Feel me working mine. Ahhh, yeahhh, we fuck so good together."

She was a fucking expert. I already knew that , though I'd not seen her for years. She was my daughter. I didn't care how she got that way. I just needed to be inside her, driving my rigid cock into her body. We both accelerated our thrusting.

She squealed and came, suddenly, telling me how good I was, and then started in on her second cum. We went faster yet. She kicked and thrashed, but never scratched. She came again, saying so. Then she settled in to grunting and gasping, and taking her Dad's increasingly maddened thrusts, as she came again and again, about every half minute.

I was watching her, as my hips tried to pound her into the mattress, withdrawing almost all the way out of her, and jamming my entire length back in, over and over.

I couldn't last. My orgasm came so fast, I was shouting and screaming her name, as the pulses of jism shot out of my cock and into her quivering body. I hadn't had a woman for so long, and it went on and on.

My orgasm tapered off, and I collapsed down onto her shaking body, gasping for breath. When I moved, to try to pull my spent softening penis from her, she snarled in my ear, "Don't you dare pull that cock out of me. It stays there until it gets so soft it falls out."

Then she grinned that 100-watt smile, as she said, "An' then I get to clean it off. You're gonna love that. You get to watch, while I do it. God, Dad, you're a wonderful lover."

Fifteen minutes later, after the promised clean off, she was doing the full body press-and-kiss. Another five minutes, and she was out like a light, snoring lightly, splayed out on the bed like a sex goddess after an orgy.

God, she looked beautiful.

II

I remember having a confused dream, where I was running from my knife-wielding wife, and then getting caught in a tangle of brush, roots and limbs. I finally came awake, to find myself caught in a tangle of limbs, my hands buried inside my daughter's pussy. I was half hard. My erection came up completely, as my lovely young brunette daughter took my pre-swollen cock in her mouth, and started to give me a wee-hours blowjob.

I knew she was experienced. I had proof of that. But, looking down, I met her eyes, looking up. It's difficult to smile and talk when your mouth is full of throbbing cock, but somehow, she did it.

Suck, slurp. "You were having a nightmare." Drool, slurp. "You were kicking and moving your hips." Squish, suck. "I wanted you to feel good, so I rubbed my tits all over you, and ... ." Slow, prolonged suck, and a deliberate deep-throat. "...and then I started sucking on your cock."

Her hand encircled my shaft, and started a steady up-and-down motion, as she licked the head of my cock. She eyed my length, and shook her head a little. "Not quite ready to fuck me with. But soon, real soon."

Her mouth returned to enclose my sex again. Suuuccckkk, powerfully. "Oh, Dad, you just don't know. You're so damn big. Mom never told you that. And you fuck soooo good." Suck, slurp. Quick spit to the head of my cock, a rapid roll over my legs, a weight settling onto my hips, and a barely-heard wet, slurping-sliding sound, as my entire cock length disappeared into my daughter's cunt. My lovely girl was poised over me, her on top, cowgirl-style, as she wiggled a bit to seat my hot shaft as deeply as possible inside her cunt.

I've heard writers say that a character's eyes glowed. It's not possible, the eyes don't give off light. But, looking up, I was shocked to see her eyes fully dilated, and her eyelids opened wide, as she sat astride my hips, my straining, erect cock buried inside her body.

She let her head fall back as she said, "God, Dad, you just can't know. You'd have to be a girl, and so hot you can hardly think, to even start to feel what I've got inside, here. Mom was a fucking slut, but she had THIS at home, and she ignored it. She was a total fool." She started to grind her hips in little circles around my penetrating cock.

Trouble was, I agreed with my daughter, knowing even more than what Sophie knew. I'd have to tell her, and soon, but, oh God, please, not just yet. Let me feel that power-pussy surround my father's lust-pole again.

"Dad, please, let me do most of the work. Please. Ahhh, yeah, let me fuck my father, my lover, the man who's cock is inside me. Yeah. Don't ever let anyone, any other girl, tell you different; you're huge inside. Long and thick. Just the way I like it."

She looked down, eyes still fixed and wide, as she ground her hips into mine, saying, "come on, Dad, don't be a stranger. I've got tits, and they're damn sensitive. I can cum with just my tits felt up. I've got hips, and thighs, and a bare back, and a real sexy neck. You've got hands. Use 'em. Come on, I dare ya. Feel me up, while I fuck you. Make my tits cum. I double-dog dare ya."

The challenge was issued, and—flat on my back, daughter's body impaled on my thrusting manhood—I picked up 'the glove,' and grasped both of her quivering breasts in my hands, twisting the nipples. Her body started to shake. I felt the uncontrolled spasms powerfully, around my cock, as she came hard. Holding one boob, and working on the nipple, I grasped her other thigh, kneading the flesh and inserting my hand between her groin and mine. I felt my own shaft, thrusting and withdrawing, into her slippery pussy lips, and I pinched the outer lips of her pussy.

I swear, her back arched further than I thought possible, as she came again, HARD, squealing, demanding impossible sexual things. Like, "shove that man-cock right into me, make it come out my mouth," or "YEAH, pull my clit right out of the hood."

I felt around with one hand, and truly found her clit, jammed between her downward thrusts and my upward ones. I stroked it, just a few times, and Sophie squealed, and came, again.

I felt yet another of her orgasms build and release. They were coming faster. I sensed what was happening. I'd read a lot of porn books, and seen a lot of porn videos—especially those 'special' ones I kept right next to the bed—and I'd heard of multiply-orgasmic women. I knew they were rare.

But my lovely young daughter was more than multiply orgasmic. It more like multi-mega-orgasmic. With orgasmic nipples. And then, she went into Status.

Status? There's a medical term for people who have a fairly rare, and sometimes fatal, type of epilepsy, where the end of one seizure triggers the start of the next. The seizures never stop, and without pretty major medications, the sufferer eventually can't speak, or breathe, or control their heartbeat. Sometimes they die, having endless seizures.

My lovely daughter, with a shudder and a scream, went into Status Orgasmicus. She stopped coming down between orgasms. She forgot to grind into me. She forgot to hold on. I grabbed her at the waist, as I started to thrust hard into her now fantastically sloppy cunt, as she squealed, and gasped, moaned and flailed her arms. Her eyes were wide, but not focused. She forgot to swallow, and she drooled spit down her chin, and onto her boobs. Just a screaming, thrashing woman-animal, having one, single, loooonnnngggg orgasm that didn't stop, never stopped.

I thrust upwards like a mad person. I wasn't just her incest-driven Dad. I owned this woman. Right then, I owned her, body and soul, pulsing tits and squirting cunt, as her liquid squished between up.